


The Union of Langara

by DisaLanglois



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Binary civilization fic, Drama, F/M, Gen, High altitude, Jonas-centric, Langara, Off-World, Plotty, Post-Canon, Worldbuilding, kelowna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisaLanglois/pseuds/DisaLanglois
Summary: Jonas Quinn arrives through the Stargate with an invitation for Jack and Sam to visit Langara.  His planet is having its official Unification Ceremony, and he wants Jack and Sam to be there on the big day.Jack O'Neill wants to retire for good, but he jumps at the chance for one last mission through the Stargate, alone with Sam.But Jonas is keeping secrets of his own.  As Jack and Sam uncover all the secrets of Langara, they will have to fight for their future together.This fic is an exploration of what happened to Jonas, and why he never came back to the SGC ...





	1. Invitation to Langara

* * *

#### Cheyenne Mountain...

 

Someone was dialling into the SGC from off-world … 

The klaxons sounded, the red lights started flashing.  “Unauthorised off-world activation!” Walter Harriman-Davis announced. “Closing the Iris!”

When General Landry was away, Sam Carter was in command of the SGC.  She pushed herself away from her computer station where she was running simulations, and strode over to Walter.   

The SGC wasn't expecting any teams back today at all.  The wars against the Ori and the Goa'uld were over, and peace-time operations had been scaled back to just diplomatic and scientific missions.  Most of Homeworld's resources were dedicated to Earth's ships these days.  There were times when Sam missed the excitement of those days.  For all the dangers and the fear of the war, it had been exciting to know that _she_ was on the sharp end of the stick defending Earth against its enemies.  She knew that Jack sometimes missed it too. It had been good to have a clear goal, a common enemy, something to work together against.   

 “Ma’am, I’m receiving an IDC,” Walter said. His spectacles were balanced on top of his bald head.

"One of ours?"

"No, ma'am.  It’s Langara!” 

"Langara!  Jonas Quinn!"

The SGC hadn't heard from Jonas Quinn for years!  Langara had been conquered by the Ori, but after the Ori fell they had stayed quiet.  Even after the fall of the Ori, Jonas had not come back into contact with his friends at SG1.  In all the chaos, there had been no time to spare to worry about him until now. 

It had been Jack’s idea to open contact with Langara again.  It was time to rebuild Earth's relationships with other worlds.  Time to find out who had been lost, among all their friends, and who had survived the onslaught of the Ori, time to find out what had happened to Jonas.  They didn't even know if he was alive or dead.

But Earth’s message to Langara had received no reply – until now.  "Open the Iris!"  

Walter hit the pad with his palm, and the great shield retracted.  Liquid light flowed over the walls of the Gate Room.  The SGC was open for business. 

A moment later, a man popped out of the wormhole.  He caught himself on the ramp, and looked around with a smile. 

“Jonas!” Sam said. 

A moment she was leaping down the staircase.  She burst into the Gate Room. “Jonas!” 

"Sam!"

It was Jonas Quinn, alive and well!  He stepped down off the ramp, and she met him with a hug.  He hugged her back tightly, almost lifting her off her boots.  "It's good to see you again, Jonas!" she said.

"It's good to be back!"  He grinned down at her. 

Jonas looked good.  His blond hair was gelled back from his brow, the way he had looked when she had first met him. He looked like he hadn't aged a day since the minute he'd left the SGC.  She could smell his scent; a sweet smell, like cut grass.  A pleasant scent, but alien; a subtle reminder that this man was not quite human. 

“How’s Kianna?” Sam asked. 

“She’s well!” Jonas grinned.  “Actually, um...  We’re married.” 

“Wow!  Jonas!” 

“How are Daniel, and Teal’c, and - here he is!"

Sam turned.  Jack had come into the Gate Room at a run, obviously alerted by Walter.  "It's Jonas!" Sam said.  

_“There’s_ the man!" Jack was grinning broadly.   He met Jonas with a rough hand-shake, and a punch on his shoulder.  “Back like a bad penny!" 

Vala Mal Doran had come into the Gate Room behind Jack, but she was holding back, watching Jonas. 

“Hey, you two never met, did you?" Sam asked.  "Jonas, this Vala Mal Doran.  Vala, come and meet Jonas Quinn.  The other alien on SG1.” 

“Only for a year!"  Jonas stepped forward to meet her.  He smiled brightly at Vala, and reached out for a handshake. "Glad to meet you!" 

“You smell like a Goa’uld,” Vala said.  She ignored Jonas’s hand.  

Jonas pulled back his hand, snubbed.  His smile turned to a hurt frown. 

“It’s okay, Vala!” Sam said.  “He has traces of naquadah in his blood.  Langara has a naquadah core." 

“You can smell naquadah?” Jonas asked Vala.  

“You _stink_ like a Goa'uld."  

“That’s _fascinating!_   Would you be interested in coming to my campus and talking to a professor I know, who’s running a fascinating longitudinal study on the effects of …”

“No." 

"Play nice, Vala!" Jack warned.

"I'm not playing with a _Goa'uld."_   Vala turned with a whip of her pony-tail, and stalked away.

Jonas looked upset. 

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam said, touching Jonas’s arm.  “She used to be a host.  That's why she can sense naquadah.” 

“You didn't come here to talk to her, anyway,” Jack said. 

“No,” Jonas said.  He pushed Vala's snub out of his mind, and turned his bright smile back on again.  “I came here to talk to you.  We got your message, Jack!”

“You’ve got an answer?” 

“I _am_ the answer!"  Jonas grinned.  "Can we go upstairs and talk?” 

They made their way up to the briefing room, and sat around the familiar polished table. 

Jonas settled into his old seat, and they chatted for a few minutes, about who was where, and who was dead. 

"How are Daniel and Teal’c?"  Jonas asked.  "Are they still … I mean, is everyone… are is everyone still _well?”_

 _Are they still alive?_ was what he meant.  They had been through a whole war since he had seen any of them. There had been combat; there had been death, on Earth as well as Langara.  Sam settled his fears. 

“They’re both okay!  Teal’c is on Chulak.  Daniel’s in Russia.”

“Daniel would be here if he knew you were coming,”  Jack said. 

Jonas looked stricken to hear about Dr Fraiser's death. “She saved my life,” he said.  “When I had that brain tumour, I wouldn't have gone for that surgery if she hadn't pushed me.” 

“She saved a lot of lives,” Sam said. 

“Listen,” Jack said.  “I want to apologise for the SGC not being there for Langara when the Ori came.” 

“Not at all,” Jonas said, raising both hands.  “You had your hands full.  We get that.” 

“We couldn’t be there for you when the crunch came, Jonas.  And I’m sorry.” 

“Well, actually, that’s why I’m here,” Jonas said.  “You can make it up to us if you want to.” 

“How?” 

"I've come here to invite SG1 to visit Langara.”

“You want us to re-open diplomatic relations with Kelowna?”

“Not exactly,” Jonas grinned.  “We want you to witness the _end_ of Kelowna!"

"The end of Kelowna?" Jack echoed. "Isn't Kelowna your country?" 

"It was!" Jonas grinned.  "But in one more week the Union of Langara will be a legal reality!  And then Kelowna will cease to exist.  All the estates of Langara will be united. One planet, under one government.” 

“That’s great news, Jonas!” Sam said. 

"How the hell did you get that right?" Jack asked.  "The last time we saw you, you were at each other's throats!"

"But the Ori changed things," Jonas said.  "They taught us to stand together.   We had to learn to work together, just to survive them.  In a way, we owe them a debt of gratitude.  Hallowed be the __fuck-you.__

Jack laughed. 

"The constitutional work is done, the referendum is in, the legal framework is in place.  The Union will be a reality next week. We're having a big ceremony to swear in the first Panarch, and raise the new flag. And _that’s_ why I’m here."

"Yeah?" 

"We’d like you to be there.  The Union would never have happened without SG-1.” 

Jack glanced at Sam, and she saw the question in his eyes.  He was asking her agreement.  She nodded. 

"Both of us?"

"Hell, yes."  Jonas grinned.  “Not just Kelowna, but me and Kianna too!  We would really like you to come and visit us, stay in our house a few days. It's been so long since we've seen you.” 

"Ah, _gee,_ how can we refuse an invite like that?" Jack said.  "We’ll be there.” 

“Great!”  Jonas said.  “Yesss!” 

* * *

 

Rank had its privileges.  Jack O’Neill had cleared his time-table for the next week.  He was going on one last off-world mission, and he was going to make the most of it. 

Landry had lent him his office for a few minutes, before they dialled out.  His bag was packed and ready at his feet.  In a few minutes, he would be on the other side of the Milky Way, on a planet in the Sagittarius Arm. 

There was a knock at the office door.  Sam opened it, without waiting for his reply.  "Sir," she said. 

“Colonel!” Jack said.  "Come in."

She closed the door behind her. She was wearing Service Dress, like he was.  The blue highlighted her hair, and the skirt outlined her gorgeous legs.  This was a diplomatic mission, which meant she was going to wear Service Dress often.  Jack was going to enjoy looking at those legs over the next few days. 

“You ready?” he asked. 

 “I’m ready.  You?” 

He picked up one of Landry’s framed photographs, and checked out his silver pins in the reflection.  “Are my wings on straight?” 

“Since when are _you_ fussed about your wings?” 

“Since we _both_ know how fussy the Langarans are.” 

She grinned at him. “Why are you _really_ going to Langara, Jack? You don’t even like Langara.  You call them the Planet of the Jerks.”

“It’s Jonas Quinn’s planet too!” 

“All right, so it’s Planet of the Jerks Minus One.  Why are you _really_ going?”   

“All right, fine.  You got me.  I’m _actually_ going away for a dirty weekend." 

“Very funny."

"No, really!  There's this sexy blonde Air Force Colonel ... phwoaarrrr! Hot, hot, hot..." 

He saw her smile. God, he loved making this woman smile! A female Air Force officer couldn't giggle at her CO when he flirted with her, not if she wanted to keep her standing with her colleagues. But that tiny smile had told him, right from their first meeting, that sexy Captain Carter liked her CO as much as he liked her.

He grinned at her, and put down Landry's photograph.  "Actually, I’m curious about where Jonas has been hiding all these years.”

“Me too,” Sam said.  “We were so close once, and then…”

 _“Poof,_ gone!  No contact! He disappeared.”

“His planet was occupied by the Ori.” 

“But even _after_ the Ori were sent packing, he never contacted us again.

"Maybe he was just busy?"

"He lived with us for a year, and he's too busy to dial us up on the Stargate and say 'Yoo-hoo, I'm not dead? It's a puzzle."

"And I know how you are with a puzzle.”

It was a lie. He wasn't going to Langara just for Jonas Quinn's sake.  He knew that she would notice in a few minutes if he tried to keep a straight face. He took his wallet and keys out of his pocket, and turned away from Sam to open the office safe. 

This would be Sam's office soon, he thought, but she didn't know it yet.  She was being promoted to command of the SGC soon, and Hank Landry was moving to take Jack's place at Homeworld Command. And Jack?  Jack _himself_ didn't know what he was going to do next.   

But Sam didn't know any of that, yet.  He had not yet found the right time to tell her. 

They had made a deal, just the two of them. On the day he retired, he would ask her to marry him. And on the day he asked, she would say yes. They had made that deal years ago, that night in the desert, watching the Perseid meteor shower with their telescopes. They had made that deal, snuggled up naked under her space-blankets on the bed of his truck, with the falling stars streaking overhead... It had been so easy at the time.  It had felt like the most wonderful and natural thing in the world, to promise marriage to each other that night in the desert.

But now they were here.  Jack was retiring.  The day was _here,_ ... and Jack O'Neill was scared out of his wits.  He didn't know what to do. He had promised to propose the day he retired - and now that he was ready to retire he was terrified.

Thank God for this week away, he thought. For once in his life, he _needed_ an off-world mission. One last mission to clear his head before he retired. Time alone with Sam; time to just be a man and a woman together.  Time away from Washington and duty and politics. He would have to tell her that he was retiring, and then they would have to discuss what they did next, and Jack was dreading telling her what he knew she would not want to hear... He needed this week away.

He unholstered his side-arm.  He put it into the safe with his car keys.  Nobody took their car keys offworld, after Daniel Jackson accidentally dropped his keys down an alien fumarole. 

“Do you still talk to Sara?”  Sam asked, behind him.  

Where the hell had that come from? For a moment he panicked, worried that she had read his thoughts.  He thought about ducking the question, but he owed Sam the truth.    “She was the love of my life,” he said, without looking around at her. He did not want to see her face, so he stared into the bottom of the safe.  “So yeah, I talk to her, now and then.”   

“Oh.” 

 “I can’t just switch off my feelings.  Some men can, but I can't.” 

He closed the safe door.  The lock beeped as it set.  He turned around, and looked at her.  She was still holding his wallet, looking down at it with tight lips.  He could see that something was wrong.  He’d hurt her, without even meaning to. 

God, he was an idiot!  She must have seen that there was no photograph of _her_ in his wallet! 

He wanted to kiss it better, but he couldn't. The window to the briefing room was clear glass.  Hank Landry was right there, and Landry was not one of the friends who Knew. 

"Can we not talk about this now?" he said. 

"Yes," she agreed.  "Later." 

He could hear the brittle note in her voice. He'd done it again, hurt her without even meaning to. He was an idiot!

There was a knock on the door.  “Jack,” Landry called.  “We’re ready to start the dialling sequence.”

“We’ll be right there,” he called.  “Come on, Colonel.  Let’s go visit the Planet of the Jerks.” 

/p


	2. The arrival

Sam and Jack popped out of the Stargate, and found themselves facing a welcoming committee. Jonas was at the bottom of the ramp, and Kianna was at his side.

"Howdy, folks!" Jack said, cheerfully. 

"General O’Neill!”  Jonas came hustling forward, all smiles.  

"My name is _Ja-_ ack," Jack growled. 

"Jack!" Jonas corrected himself.   "And Sam!  Welcome to Langara!  You remember Kianna?" 

 Kianna came forward to meet them, shy, and different to the young woman they had met when she had been the host of a Goa’uld. She had large eyes and a delicate face. She wore her hair long now, framing her face in golden waves.  

“You’re looking well,” Jack said, warmly.  

“Thank you,” Kianna said.  ""It's good to see you again. Welcome to Langara!" She put her arm around Jonas's waist. 

Sam took the time to look around.  Behind her, the wormhole shut itself down.  The Langarans had copied some of the layout of the SGC.  The new home for the Kelowna Gate was a large hall.  High windowless walls were painted dark green.  The DHD stood behind a thick glass barrier, and two heavy machine guns stood on either side of it. "This is new?" she asked.

"We're underground, at the Academy of Sciences," Jonas said. "Shall we go?” 

Jack and Sam followed Jonas and Kianna into a passenger elevator.  Jonas dragged a wire shutter over the door, and pressed the enamel knobs.  The elevator jerked and shook, grating against the walls of the shaft as it rose.  Sam wondered if the Langarans had invented the emergency brake yet ... 

“First Minister Virago is waiting for us at the Rotunda," Jonas said.  

“The Rotunda?” Jack echoed. 

“The new government buildings.”

“What happened to the _old_ government buildings?” 

“The Ori bombed it,” Jonas said. 

"Oh." Jack and Sam exchanged looks. 

“I’ve got a car waiting outside," Jonas said, not noticing Jack's expression. "Dirk Virago wants to meet you right away." 

The elevator rattled to a stop.  Jonas led them down a marble foyer.  Then they were walking out into weak wintery sunlight. 

There was a car waiting. There was even a uniformed driver, leaning against the car's side smoking a cigarette “This is my driver, Calro,” Jonas said. 

The driver nodded politely, but didn't speak. Sam and Jack climbed into the car, and Jonas and Kianna sat opposite them on the backward-facing seat.  A moment later they were heading through the streets of Kelowna toward the river.   

“You have a driver now?” Jack asked Jonas. "Posh." 

“I’ve, um, sort of come up in the world a bit,” Jonas said. 

“Jonas is the Magister of Kelowna,” Kianna said, proudly.

“Is that a promotion?” Sam asked. 

“Well, yeah.  Sort of. You could say that," Jonas said, looking awkward.

“Hey!  It’s more than a promotion!” Kianna said. 

“I don’t like to blow my own trumpet,” Jonas said.

“Then it’s a good thing you have _me_ to blow it for you!” Kianna said fiercely.  She turned to Jack and Sam.  “Magister is the title given to someone who is _the_ most influential scientist in the country.  He's a step above professor.  He doesn't work at just one university any more, he goes between all of them."

"Like Einstein?” Sam said. 

“Heck, no!” Jonas said.  “Einstein was a genius! I was just in the right place at the right time. I'm not that smart." 

“Kelowna has three living Magisters," Kianna said.  "But one is deaf, and the other is a hundred-and-nineteen years old.  So to most people, Jonas is _the_ Magister. And he's also the Astronomer Royal of Tirania, and the Chair Perpetual of the Andari Grand Academy, and Professor Emeritus of Astro-Exploration at the Academy of Sciences.” 

"Now, _that's_ a promotion," Jack agreed. 

“I spend all my time with politics these days,” Jonas sighed. 

“Just a few more days, love,”  Kianna patted Jonas's knee affectionately.  “And then you can pretend to be deaf, like Magister Perchwall.”

Jonas grinned at his wife.  “Where would I be without you?”

“I _think_ you’d still be living in Cheese Street." 

"Ah, thank you for reminding me!" Jonas put his arm around her shoulders.  She leaned into him and kissed him on the lips. 

Jack grinned at Sam, and winked.  Jonas and Kianna were a cute couple, she thought, grinning back at him.  They were good together. 

Sam looked out the car’s windows as they drove across the bridge to the other side of the river. 

Kelowna looked the same. Buildings of red stone, chimneys smoking into the clouds.  It was late in the afternoon, and the streets and trams were full of people heading home after work, wearing thick coats against the cold.

Buskers were playing music on the street corners. That was new.  There had been no buskers the last time they were here. There had been no music at all in Kelowna. The difference made the city feel completely different, as if someone had turned all the electricity back on.

And there were flags everywhere! In every shop window, from every telegraph pole, from the tram doors to the back window of every car. It was a bright red flag. In the centre was a white circle, with a large gold star in the middle, on a large white cross. 

“That’s new!” Sam said, pointing to the gold-star flag. 

“That’s the new Union flag,” Jonas said.  “The star stands for the naquadah in the planet.  And the red stands for our military history. And the cross stand for the four estates that make up the Union. ” 

 “I thought there were three countries on Langara?” Sam asked.  “Kelowna, Tirania and the Andari Federation?”

“There are four, now,” Jonas said. 

“A lot of things have changed on Langara in the past few years,” Kianna said. 

“Yeah?” Jack said. 

“Yeah, it's all real exciting!" Jonas said. He shifted forward in his seat, and Sam knew that in a second or two he would start waving his hands around.

"Everything is changing! The curfew is gone, the borders are open,  the newspapers can write anything they want to!  Music, cuisine, entertainment, science, literature, art!  It's like the whole world is coming back to life!  We’re _all_ Langarans now – not Kelownans or Tiranians or Andari!  And now it's time to celebrate all the things we have in common!” 

“There’s even an Andari restaurant in Kelowna now,” Kianna said.   

“We'll take them there tomorrow,” Jonas promised her.  “This is the new Langara!  For the first time in two hundred years, people on Langara are _talking_ to each other! And we’re just getting started!  The Union is going to change everything.” 

“Change hurts,” Jack warned.

“Not everyone’s happy,” Kianna said.  “There are still some people who want to keep the old ways _._ ”

“Some people,” Jonas nodded.  “But the Union is _happening!_   One more week! Nothing is ever going to be the same. We can't go back to the old ways, and most people don't want to. The only way is forward! Reconciliation, reconstruction, renaissance...!"  

 “So, tell us about Virago?” Jack said, trying to break into the excited babble.  Once Jonas got excited, he could go on and on.  He’d babbled joyfully about the Weather Channel for days.  

“He's the first Panarch. He’ll be sworn in next week, at the big ceremony,”  Jonas said.  “He’s a great man!  Without him, none of this would have happened!  I think he’s the only man on Langara who could have got all sides to sit down at the table and negotiate. Really, when future generations look back at him, they're going to see him as our Washington.”

“You prefer him to First Minister Valis?” 

“Valis tried to _save_ Kelowna. But Virago understands that Kelowna _can’t_ be saved.  Kelowna needs to go down so that the Union can rise in its place.”

“Looking forward to meeting him,” Jack said.  He had learned the hard way not to trust ‘great men.’  A lot of them had less-than-great morals. Jack would reserve judgement until after he had met this one. 

The car turned a corner, and started across a broad square.  A large building loomed at the head of the square.  It was made of gleaming white marble.  "The Rotunda," Kianna said.

“That’s new too,” Sam said. 

“It used to be the Temple of Prostration,” Jonas said.  

"Oh." 

“The military administration is on the North Wing.  But we're going to the South Portico."

The car ran smoothly around the huge building. They pulled up at the side entrance.  They went up stone steps, and into an oversized door.  Jonas was known here because he got them inside without any delays. In an antechamber, they met a line of military men.   They wore the black uniforms of the Langaran military. 

"General O’Neill, may I introduce General Baing?” Jonas introduced them.  “General Hallen, Admiral Colomemnon, General Parkerman, ."

General Baing snapped his arm out in a salute – but not in a salute Sam had ever seen used in her lifetime.  His arm speared straight up toward the ceiling, making Sam jump in surprise.

"It’s an honour, General O'Neill," Baing said. 

"Uh, yeah, likewise," Jack said.  He managed to return an American salute , but Sam saw him hesitate.  She could see what a shock the Langaran salute had given him. 

"Welcome to Kelowna,” said Parkerman.  “On behalf of the Fifth Armoured Cuirassiers.”  

“Thank you,” Jack said.  

“Shall we?” Jonas said.  “First Minister Virago is expecting us. Will you excuse us, gentlemen?” 

“See you later, lover,” Kianna said, peeling off to wait in one of the chairs. 

Jack and Sam followed Jonas down a carpeted hallway. “Jonas!” Jack said as soon as they were out of earshot.  “That salute!” 

“Please don’t make a thing out of it.”

“It’s going to be pretty damn hard to ignore!” 

Jonas stopped Jack, with one hand on his arm. His forehead wrinked up in an earnest frown.  He gripped Jack's sleeve. 

“Do you know how hard it is to get soldiers who’ve fought each other their _whole lives_ to agree on _anything?_   Please don't make a thing out of the salute.” 

Jack sighed.  “You know who used that salute?”

“I know who used that salute," Jonas said. "For you, it's history.  But we're living through our history right now!  And we're doing the best we can to not fall apart.  The Union is glued together out of a _million_ compromises just like this one!  Please, _please,_ don’t make a thing out of the salute."  

“Fine,” Jack said.  He stared at Sam.  “No comments on the salute.” 

"No comments on the salute," she agreed. 

“Thank you," Jonas said.  He knocked on a wooden door, and opened it without waiting for an answer.  

Sam and Jack followed him through the door.  They were in a long boardroom, decorated in calm creamy walls.  There was a long polished conference table down the centre of the room. 

At the head of the table, a man stood up when he saw them. 

“General O’Neill, and Colonel Carter,” Jonas introduced them.  “First Minister Dirk Virago.”   

 “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Virago said.  “I’ve heard so much about you from Jonas!” 

Virago had white hair, and a lean black face.  An elegant face, faded into smile-lines; warm eyes.  Sam liked him immediately.  He shook Jack’s hand, then Sam’s, and she found that his hand was warm and firm. 

“Won’t you sit down?”  Virago asked. 

“Thank you,” Jack said. 

They all sat down on leather chairs, around the polished table.  Jonas sat down at Virago’s right hand, clearly placing himself on _Virago’_ s side of the table.  He grinned at Sam and Jack proudly as if they were eggs, and he’d just laid them. 

“The Joint Ruling Council has adjourned for the day,” Virago said.  “But I wanted to speak to you in private, as soon as you arrived.”

“We were glad to hear from Jonas,” Jack said, speaking for them both.  “Earth is very interested in opening diplomatic relations with Langara again.” 

“Yes, so are we,” Virago agreed.  “But not on the same basis as before.”

“No?” 

“We’re technological equals now.”   

“I thought we were seventy years ahead of you,” Jack said.  He glanced at Sam, and she could see the question in his eyes.  She made a tiny head-shake; Langara could not have caught up seventy years’ development already.   

“Oh, you’re right, you _were,”_ Virago said.  “But everything we needed to catch up, we got from the Fourth Estate.”

Jonas started ticking things off on his fingers.  “Ships, shields, hyperdrives, anti-gravity, data crystals, gene editing, bionic interfaces, cryo-tech, morph-tech, psyche-onics …”

“The Fourth Estate?”  Jack said. 

“Immigrants from off-world,” Virago said.  “We opened our Stargate to the Nexus.  The fall of the System Lords has made our sector of space politically very unstable.  We had a lot of refugees …” 

“And you let them in?”

“We would never have survived the Ori without the Fourth Estate,” Jonas said.  

“We don’t need technology from Earth any more,” Virago said.  “Our industrial base is catching up fast.  What we need now is _legitimacy.”_

“Legitimacy?” 

“There are too many die-hards who think the Union is a pipe-dream, even with the Fourth Estate," Virago said.  "We need off-worlders to recognise the Union, to demonstrate that it _is_ a political reality."

“Diplomatic recognition,” Jack said. 

“Exactly,” Virago said.  "Allies and friends, who recognise the Union as an equal."  

Jack tapped his fingers on the table.  “So basically, you need us to stand there and make you look good.”

Jonas and Virago looked at each other. 

Jonas grinned at Virago.  “I told you you’d like Jack!”     

“Yes,” Virago said to Jack.  “Yes, that’s _exactly_ what we need.”

“The only way the Union can survive," Jonas explained, "is if Langara's people _believe_ it will survive.  We've worked hard to build something that can last, but we need to make people believe in it.  Otherwise, everything we've built here will just fall apart at the first constitutional crisis.” 

Jack looked at Sam, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. 

“Okay, listen,” he said.   “First of all, your Union is a great idea.  Love what you're doing with the place!  Rock on, _you.”_   He tapped his fingers on the table. 

“But?”

“But this ain't my first rodeo, kids.”  

“We’ve been burned before,” Sam explained.  “We've given Earth’s aid to people who turned out later to have bad intentions.  We've learned to be cautious.”

“So excuse me if I’m not ready to sing Kumbaya _just_ yet,” Jack said.  “I’d like to look around first, before I put Earth’s diplomatic recognition on anything.” 

 “That sounds fair,” Virago said. 

“Great,” Jack said. 

“Actually, that’s just what I wanted to hear,” Jonas said.  “I hoped you and Sam would stay with me and Kianna for a few days.  We can show you around Kelowna.”

“But Kelowna isn’t all of Langara,” Jack warned.  “I want to visit Tirania and the Andari Federation too.” 

“There’s an overnight train that runs over the Steen Tor to Tiran City,” Jonas said.  “And then maybe we can take an air-ship to the Andari Islands.” 

“You have _air-ships?”_ Sam blurted.

“Don’t you?” Virago said. 

Sam had only ever seen air-ships in black-and-white photographs of the 1930s. 

Jack was looking at her, affectionately – he knew her too well. Air-ships had made the deal.  “That sounds like a plan,” Jack said, and dropped a wink.   

“I hope Jonas can answer all your questions,” Virago said.  “A lot of things have changed on Langara.  Some of it is going to surprise you, but I assure you, we’re doing the best we can.”  

* * *

 

Calro pulled up in a narrow curved street, next to a terrace of houses.  They were all identical, three-story brick houses, built together like a wall. Sam found herself looking at a black front door, with a brass number 12 above the letter box. There was no garden, and no garage for the car. A row of nearly identical front doors opened onto the street. 

“We’re home,” Jonas said.  He popped open the door, and jumped out. 

“Welcome to Tickberry Terrace!” Kianna said.  “Come on inside, it’s nearly dinner time.” 

Sam and Jack followed them through the front door, and found themselves in a narrow hall.  The house had startlingly ugly orange wall-paper, and the low ceiling that Sam had learned to expect from Kelownan architecture.  A narrow staircase ran up the wall of the hall to the upper floors. 

“We’re home!” Jonas called into the depths of the house, and closed the front door. 

A woman came out from the passage next to the staircase.  She had grey hair and a tough face, like a nurse or a cop. 

“This is Mrs Mattis,”  Kianna said.  “Our house-keeper, and cook.” 

“And the up-keeper of things falling down, and down-nailer of things that shouldn’t come up,” Jonas said.  

“Welcome to Tickberry Terrace,” Mrs Mattis said.  “Dinner’s _nearly_ ready, ma’am,  I’ll ring from the dinner-table when it’s warmed up for you.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Mattis,” Kianna said.  “We’ll be in the front room.” 

Mrs Mattis bustled away again, disappearing below the stairs.  

“She’s like Master Bra’tac with a rolling-pin," Jonas whispered. "She's so efficient she scares me.” 

Kianna led the way into the front room.  She turned on the electric light, which glowed on dark green wallpaper.  “Make yourselves at home.” 

“Here!” Jonas hustled around.  “You sit there.  Just chuck those books on the floor ...  that box is just geological samples.  Here, sit here.  There we go!” 

He cleared space on a chaise longue, pushing books to the floor.  The chaise-longue had been upholstered in horse-hair, and crunched when Sam sat on it.  Jack sat next to her with another crunch.  

Jonas sat on a sofa, and Kianna sat next to him.  Either from marital affection or old upholstery she immediately slid into her husband’s side.  He put his arm around her.  “There!” Jonas said, beaming at them all.  “Isn’t this _nice?”_

“Welcome to our house,” Kianna said. 

“It’s cosy,” Sam said, meaning, _'It's cluttered.'_  

 _Anyone_ could see that Jonas Quinn lived here, she thought.  He'd covered the room with mess, the way he'd covered his office and quarters at the SGC.  The room was over-run, _overwhelmed_ by books.  There were books on the shelves, books on the desks, books on the chairs, books on the floor in front of the fire-place.  A dusty chalk-board stood against the wall, covered with equations, and geological symbols.  Boxes of geological samples were piled under the window.  

“I asked Mrs Mattis to make two bedrooms up for you,” Kianna said.  “Next to each other, and opposite ours.”   

Jack looked at Sam.  She knew what he was going to say. 

“Actually, we’d prefer to share one room, together.” 

“Yeah,” Jack said.  “One room.” 

“You're sharing a room?” Jonas echoed, blinking in surprise.   “And a bed as well?”

Sam saw Jack open his mouth, and then close it again without the sarcastic answer.  Jonas Quinn was too soft a target even for Jack.

 _“Jonas!”_ Kianna said, staring at her husband with an expression of baffled affection. 

It was an expression Jonas got from a lot of people at the SGC.  It was reassuring to Sam that some things had not changed.  For such an intelligent man, Jonas could be _very_ obtuse.  “Yes, one bed,” Sam said.  "We're a couple.  We're sleeping together." 

“Since I left the SGC,” Jack said.  He took Sam's hand, and kissed her fingers. 

She thrilled at his caress; touching each other in company was still an unusual treat.  She found herself grinning at him. She _wanted_ him tonight, as soon as she could get him alone. 

“Oh, I’m _happy_ for you!” Kianna said.  “I _wondered_ if you were!  You look so comfortable with each other!” 

But Jonas was frowning.  “But, wait, I thought you couldn’t be together?  Teal’c told me you weren't allowed."

“We aren't,” Sam said.  

“It’s against regulations,” Jack said.   “If the Air Force finds out about us, I’ll be forced to retire … but we're not letting that stop us any more.  I'm not letting Sam go."  He was still holding her hand on his knee, as if now that he’d touched her he didn’t want to let her go. 

“We only tell people we _trust,”_ Sam said. 

“It’s a secret,” Jack added.   

“Nobody on Earth will hear about it from us!” Jonas promised, grinning.

“We’re good at keeping secrets on Langara,” Kianna said.  

“And I’m happy for you,” Jonas said.  “You two deserve each other!  Really, I'm happy!  And I know Teal'c will be happy too!”

A bell rang somewhere else in the house. 

“That’s Mrs Mattis,” Jonas said.  “Come on, I’ll show you where to wash up for dinner.” 

* * *

 

That night, Sam used what Kelownans called the ‘wash closet’ to brush her teeth and use the commode, and then padded back through the dark corridor to the room she was sharing with Jack.  

She opened the door and slipped inside. 

The room was almost dark. Jack was sitting up in bed, lit only by the bed-side light.  

“Hey, sexy,” she said, pausing to admire his face. 

“Hey, lover.  Come here.”  He patted the sheets next to him. 

She walked over, and got into the bed.   “God, it’s cold in this house,” she whispered.  She pulled the blankets up around her ears, shivering.  The sheets were cold against her bare feet.  “Haven’t they invented central heating yet?”   

 _“I’ve_ got something that’ll warm you up,” Jack whispered. 

“Oh, you do, do you?” 

Jack reached out for the light on the nightstand.  He turned the knob on the lamp, until the incandescent wire died with a hiss.  The room went dark. The bedsprings shifted, as he rolled over to face her.  He cupped his hands around her cheeks, and kissed her. 

She could taste toothpaste; cool minty breath, and warm male tongue.  She ran both hands over his face, feeling his smooth cheeks, running her fingers through his hair.  “Mmm,”  she murmured into his mouth.  

“I’ve been looking at you all night,” he rumbled into her ear.  “ _God,_ you’re sexy in Service Dress.” 

"So are you."

They kissed each other, slowly, exploring by feel in the darkness.  She felt Jack's hands, stroking over her breasts.  He started pushing aside the front of her chemise, until her body was bare under the scratchy blankets. 

His kisses went away.  “Dive, dive, dive!” he said, and pulled the covers over his head.  

She giggled,  She knew exactly what Jack was thinking about when he started making submarine jokes.  She kept her hands on his hair, enjoying his kisses working their way down her body.  She could hear the rustle of the blankets as he wormed his way down her body.

 _“Hr-r-rm,”_ he said, under the blanket.  “Planesman, let’s have ten degrees down-bubble.  Bring us to nipple-scope depth.  Aye-aye, captain…” He found her nipple with his mouth.  Her back arched, her fingers clutching around his head. 

She giggled again, in spite of herself. She knew exactly what he was planning, and she knew exactly how good it was going to be, but he was taking his time, making her wait.   Her stomach was starting to smoulder with anticipation. The contrast between the cold air and the fire inside her was making her tremble, but Jack would not be hurried.  He was going to explore her at his own pace.  He was going to make her wait.

She drew up her knee, opening her thigh for him eagerly. His fingers found the heat between her legs, and stroked there gently. His fingers fired a spark straight up her spine.  She jerked. 

And then he stopped.  She felt his neck stiffen hard in her hands.  “Crap,” he muttered.   

 “What’s wrong?”  She opened her eyes, but the room was dark.  His head was level with her stomach under the blankets.  He had gone absolutely still.  “Jack?”   

 “I forgot to bring condoms,” he said. 

“What?” 

“I bought new ones.  But they’re still on the kitchen counter with the Fruit Loops.” 

“Jack!” 

“Sorry.” 

He pulled away from her.  She let his head go, and he surfaced from the blankets.  “Crap,” he muttered. 

She sat up, feeling the thick blankets fall away from her naked breasts.  She could see him silhouetted against the window. She put her hand on him, feeling his chest hair.  “Let’s just do it,” she whispered. “We don’t need them, do we?  Let’s just do it.” 

“You mean, leave a wet mark for Mrs Mattis to find?  Um, no.  She looks like she could break me in half.” 

“I don’t mean a wet spot.  Jack?  Why don’t we just stop?

“Stop?” 

“Stop using contraception.  No more condoms.  I’m overdue for another shot.  I can just … let nature take its course.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his reaction.  He stiffened under her hand.  

“What?  Are you sure?”

She pulled her hand back.  “Aren’t _you?”_ she asked. 

The bed-springs rolled as he moved.  “We need to talk about this.”

“Never mind.”  She rolled over, away from him, and pulled the blankets over her.  The front of her chemise was loose, and she pulled it closed.  “It was just a thought.” 

“I just haven’t thought about it, Carter.” 

“You don’t have to. It’s fine.  I’ll get the shot.” 

“We need to talk about it, before we make plans like that.”

“It’s fine,” she said, facing into the darkness. 

She felt him lying down against her back.  His muscular arm snaked around her body, pressing her tightly against him.  His body was hot.  _“Samantha,”_ he whispered in her ear.  “We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, facing away.  “If you’re not ready, then that’s it.  It’s fine.  Go out with Jonas tomorrow, and find some condoms.” 

“I don't want to hurt your feelings," he said.  "We need to ..."  

A shriek broke the night. 

Jack jumped so hard that he almost crushed her.  She caught an elbow over her ear, as he threw himself away. 

_“Goa’uld!”_

“It can’t be!” Sam sat up.  “How could a Goa’uld be here?” 

Jack was already out of bed.  He opened the curtain and stared down into the street. The moon cast a silver bar of light across his face and naked chest.  “I know what I heard.” 

“It’s our ears playing tricks,” she said.  “It’s not a Goa’uld.” 

“I’m going to see if Jonas heard it.”  He pulled the curtain closed again. 

“Jack!” she called. 

“Stay there,” Jack warned.  He moved across the room in the dark.  The door opened, and he slipped out into the corridor. 

“Damn,” Sam said.  She climbed over the mattress, found the knob on the lamp, and turned the light on.   She sat up against the headboard, her hands around her knees. 

She heard the sound of a knock.  “Jonas,” Jack called, and knocked again. 

She heard a voice mumble.  And then a door opened.  “Jack?”  Jonas sounded sleepy.    

“Did you hear that?”  Jack asked. 

“Hear what?” 

“We heard a Goa’uld.”    

“A _what?”_

“A Goa’uld.  That scream they make.”   

“It’s a cat, Jack,” Jonas said. 

“That wasn’t a cat.”

“Jack.  It was a _cat._   Please, can I go back to bed?  You’re going to wake Kianna…” 

Sam heard Jonas close his bedroom door.  Jack came back to the bedroom, and shut the door behind him.

“It _sounded_ like a Goa’uld,” he said.  He looked confused. 

“How could a Goa’uld be up here?” she asked.  “We’re on the third floor!  And besides, they’re all gone.  The war is over.”

“All wars end,” he muttered.  He came back to bed.  

She rolled over, away from him.   He got into bed, and turned the light off again. 

“Maybe it _was_ a cat?” he said. 

"It was probably just a cat," she said. 

She pulled the blankets over her, and lay in the dark, in silence. She could hear him breathing.  She couldn’t see him behind her, but she though he was lying on his back, staring up at the dark.  He didn’t talk.  He didn’t touch her. 

She lay on her side for a long time, curled around her hurt, staring into the dark with her eyes open. 

Jack O'Neill didn't want children with her.  

After all, _Sara_ had been the love of his life.  He had said so that afternoon in his office.  Sara had been the love of his life. She had felt Jack pulling away from her for months.  It was subtle, but it was there; he was holding something back.  There was something he was not telling her.  He was too honest to hide it, but he was keeping something from her, pulling away from her, withdrawing from their relationship.   

And now, she knew what it was.  She had suspected, but now she was sure.  Jack did not want to marry her.  He did not want children with her.

Sam had given her heart to him, utterly and completely.  She wanted his name, she wanted his children, she wanted to give herself to him, for the rest of her life.

But he didn’t want her.  _Sara_ was the love of his life, not Sam.  This secret love affair, sex hidden in hotels and secret phone calls, was all she would have from him.  He was the love her her life, but she was not his.  And now he was pulling away. 

She loved him _so much_ , but she wanted to cry with the pain of his rejection.

Eventually, he cleared his throat.  

“I could have _sworn_ that was a Goa’uld," he said.  

He wasn’t even _thinking_ about her!  

She opened her eyes wide, and glared at the dark in a sudden flash of rage.  She didn't even know _why_ she was so angry, but she was.  She ground her teeth, and said nothing. 

“Maybe I _do_ have Goa’uld on the brain?” he said. 

He paused, as if he was waiting for her to agree with him.  She ignored him. 

"Is that a sign of PTSD?  Is that a flash-back?  Does that qualify as a flash-back? Hey, Sam?  Are you listening?  Sam, are you awake?” 

“I’m trying to sleep,” she lied. 

“Yeah.  Sorry,” he said.  She felt him worm down deeper into his blankets, burrowing down for warmth.  “Good night.  Sleep tight.” 

After a moment, he added, “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” she whispered. 

After a while, he started to snore.   Sam lay awake, and listened to him for a long time, and tried very hard not to make a sound as she cried.

 


	3. Kelowna

Sam was disturbed when Jack gave her a beardly good morning kiss, and rolled out of bed. 

She stayed where she was, curled up with the blankets up to her nose, until the sound of hooves from the street outside woke her up. “Horses?”  she said aloud, sitting up.     

She got up, and went to the window.  A pony and cart was stopped outside the front door.  Sam saw Mrs Mattis come out from the door, and exchange milk bottles with the driver. 

“Milk delivered by ponies," Sam said to herself, smiling down at the plump pony. "If only I was still thirteen!” She leaned on the windowsill, and watched the pony until it moved to the next house, and out of sight.  

She was up, so she got up. She dressed and washed up, and then went downstairs. 

Last night the house had been dark, the gloom worsened by the awful choice of wallpaper. Today sunlight was streaming down the staircase. The walls around the landing had been decorated with framed photographs, and she stopped to look at them curiously.  Pictures of Jonas and Kianna’s wedding.  Friends and family, classmates and colleagues, holidays and parties, people she didn't know at all.   Cherished memories of strangers, their significance unknown to her, their stories untold. 

And here, was a photograph of SG1.  Jack, Sam, Teal’c, and Jonas, smiling in the sunshine, on a hike up Pike’s Peak. Framed with all the rest. SG1 was just _one_ of the cherished memories on this wall, she realized, one part of Jonas Quinn's life; a life she didn’t really know much about at all.  They had been so close to Jonas once, but then they had gone down separate paths.  What had Jonas done, after he left the SGC? Where had he been, what had he done, who were his friends, his family, his colleagues? Who _were_ all these other people on this wall? 

She would have to find out. She touched the glass of Jack’s face gently, and then followed the sound of Jack’s voice downstairs to find the man himself. 

She found Jack in the dining room where they had supper last night.  He was having breakfast with Kianna and Jonas. 

“Good morning,” Sam said to them all.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Jack said.  “We’re in the news!  Jonas, show her the paper!” 

“You're on the front page this morning,” Jonas said.  He turned his newspaper around to show her. 

“What does it say?” Sam asked.  She could only read a few words of the Langaran script. 

Jonas turned the paper back, and read aloud. “Arrived via the Stargate from Earth ... General Jack O’Neill and Colonel Samantha Carter, famous of SG-1.  … First Minister Virago … Privy Council Chamber … blah blah blah.”

“Feels weird to have the Stargate in the newspapers,” Sam said. 

“People are _always_ fascinated by the Stargate,” Jonas said.

Sam sat next to Jack.  The table was loaded with a stack of toast, and a set of teapots   and coffee-cups.  Sam took herself a plate, and loaded it with toast. 

“Have a cup of tea,” Jack said to Sam.  “And don’t eat the green stuff.  It’s grass.” 

“It’s lucerne,” Jonas said. 

“It’s _inedible,_ that’s what it is,” Jack said.  “And the coffee is roasted acorns.  Take my word for it.  Have a cup of tea.”

“Roasted acorns?”  Sam asked. 

“Yeah, acorn coffee. You have to try it,” Jonas said. 

“That sounds interesting.”

Jonas picked up the teapot, and poured her a steaming hot cup.  He added milk to the cup, and reached across the table to set it in front of her.  “There we go.” 

She tasted it, and discovered the most bitter beverage she’d ever tasted.  It was hard to swallow without showing her horror on her face. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?”  Jonas asked, staring closely at her face and beaming at her happily.  “I knew you would like it!  It’s a Kelownan specialty.”

“Can I have some of that spread?”  Sam said, once she could trust her voice again. 

Kianna passed her the dish of toast slices.  Sam began spreading them with what looked like marmalade.  Jack picked up the other teapot, and poured out a cup of tea for her.  She could almost feel _‘I told you so’_ radiating off his innocent face.  

Jonas was dipping his toast into his acorn coffee, and munching on the soggy mess as if it was delicious.  “Earth food is _amazing,”_ he said to Kianna, gesturing with his toast at his wife. “Seriously _amazing,_ but I always missed acorn coffee while I was there.” 

“Don’t you have work to go to?”  Sam asked. 

“Not today,” Jonas said. 

“You’ll end up working anyway if we don’t drag you out,” Kianna said to him. 

“Not today, love,” Jonas promised her.  “I thought we might take Jack and Sam around the City today.” 

“I need to go shopping,” Jack said. 

“You, shopping?”  Jonas said. 

“Yeah, me, shopping,” Jack said.  “I need to get something.” 

Condoms, Sam remembered.  He wanted to ask Jonas in private where he could get condoms.  She hid her face behind a sip of tea. 

“I want to go to the gymnasium this morning,” Kianna said.  “Maybe Sam will come with me?

“We can meet at that Andari place for lunch,” Jonas suggested. 

 “By the way,” Kianna asked Sam.  “Has Jonas given you a Rash?”

 _“What?”_   She almost choked on her tea. 

“Not yet,” Jonas said.  He picked up a pair of booklets from the sideboard, and handed them over.  “This is the Ration Card. We call it the Rash.” 

Sam took hers, and looked at it.  It was made of grey cardboard, and had the inky smell she associated with banknotes and bureaucracy.  She was able to make out her own name on the front, in the Langaran script.  Inside were sets of printed tables on thin cards. She managed to recognise one word. “Eggs?” she asked.  “Kelowna rations eggs?” 

“Among other things,” Jonas said.  "Also milk, cheese, butter.  Cooking oil.  Lard.  Potatoes.  Meat.  Sausages…” 

Jack was glaring at the Rash as if it offended him. “What does this have to do with _us?”_  

“It’s not difficult,” Jonas said.  “You go to the grocer, he sells you the eggs, and then punches the Rash to say you've had your allocation.”

“But we don't ourselves,” Kianna said.  “We give the Rash to Mrs Mattis, and she goes and stands in the queue for you. She's going to queue for eggs this morning.” 

“Does Mrs Mattis have a Rash?”

“Of course. Everyone in Kelowna is on the Rash.”

“Well, you wanted to know all about the real Kelowna,” Jonas said.  “People are used to the Rash, and the Basic Living Stipend, and collective farms, and state-assigned apartments …

“Luckily, I inherited this house from my mother," Kianna said.

“State-assigned apartments,” Jack grumbled. “Why am I not surprised?” He bit into his toast, and managed to make chewing into a political statement.

“This is just how things work in this country,” Kianna said. 

“For now, anyway,” Jonas added.  “The Union is going to change things.”

“Your planet is very strange,” Sam said. 

“You haven’t even scratched the surface yet,” Kianna promised. 

* * *

 

To Sam’s surprise, a Kelownan gymnasium was not what Americans thought of as a gym. 

She had never seen so many naked women in the same place in her entire life.  Naked women; naked women _everywhere._   

She kept her towel wrapped around her tightly, and followed Kianna. Kianna had persuaded her to strip off naked, and then to walk into a large hall of steam and naked women.The hall was filled with baths, sunk into the green tiles like a Moroccan tannery.  Women walked naked along the narrow walls around the baths.  Others sat in the hot water, chatting.  The air was thick with steam.  Voices echoed off the vaulted ceiling. 

“This one is empty,” Kianna said, finding an unoccupied bath she liked.  She stepped down off the wall into the hot water, and sat down in it.  “Come on, Sam.  The water is hot.”

Sam looked around her  The women in the bath hall were all shapes and sizes.  Fat ones, hairy ones, liver-spotted ones, young and old.  Nobody was looking at her.  She just had to keep her eyes down, and pretend she couldn’t see them either.   

“Nobody’s looking,” Kianna said from the bath.  

“Okay, here goes.”  Sam untied the towel, and let it drop.  She stepped down naked into the water, and sat down on the tiles before anyone could look at her.  “Ah, that’s good,” she said, surprised and pleased. 

The water was just hot enough to sting but not hot enough to scald.  The wall was just at the right height to encourage her to lean back.  She rested her head against the warm wet tiles.  

“Didn’t I tell you so?”  Kianna teased. She leaned back, arching her arms over the wall behind her. 

Sam tried not to look at her breasts.  “Is this place new?”  

“No.  This one is about three hundred years old, I think?  Men and women have it on alternating days.” 

“How do they heat the water?”

Kianna’s eyes were already closed. “Naquadria deposits, about three cables underground. It’s not radio-active, in case you’re worrying.”

“It’s nice.” 

“Once you’ve soaked, we can go and get scrubbed in the next hall.” 

So _this_ explained why Jonas had stripped naked the first time he visited the gym in the SGC.  General Hammond had to explain gym etiquette to him in his office behind closed doors, which had thoroughly embarrassed them both.  _This_ was what a Langaran thought of a ‘gymnasium.’ And _this_ explained why Tickberry Terrace did not have a bathtub.  She tried to picture Jonas convincing Jack to bathe with a few hundred naked men in here, and couldn't imagine it ever happening.  

She looked around, trying not to look at the diversity of breasts around her.  One of the figures picking their way over the walls didn’t _have_ breasts. 

“Um.  Kianna.  Is that a _man_ there?”

Kianna twisted her head to see.  “He’s a eunuch.  He works here.”

“Oh.”

“He was a runaway slave from Tirania.  Tiranians often castrate their slaves.”

 _“Slaves?”_ Sam said. 

“The Tiranian economy is founded on slavery.” 

“Oh.  Um, the United States is going to have a real problem with that.”

 _“Everyone_ has a problem with that!" Kianna said fiercely. "When slaves reach Kelowna, we don’t send them back, _ever!_   All escaped slaves have automatic citizenship in Kelowna.  That was one of the causes of the last war! Tiranian slavery.”

“Oh.” 

“At least that’s something that’s going to change with the Union.  Tirania has agreed to free all their slaves in the next five years.”

“Oh, _gee,_ that’s so _generous!_   Five years, wow.”

“Dirk Virago argued to free them immediately, but they just wouldn’t budge.  They say they afford to lose their whole labour force overnight.  You should have seen Jonas's face when he came home and told  me that.  He was purple." 

“I can imagine!”  Sam said. 

“That’s why I’m not coming with you to Tirania.  I can’t stand Tiranians!  I want to stab them all in the eyeball with a fork!”  Kianna looked fierce.  She had been a Goa’uld host, Sam remembered.  She knew all about slavery. 

Sam looked across the room.  The eunuch had disappeared. 

“And then you have the Andari,” Kianna said.  “The country that ate their Prior.” 

“They what?” 

“Didn’t Jonas tell you?  The Andari ate their Prior – or rather, the mob did.  When the Priors lost their power he tried to run, but the mob caught him on the street.  When the gendarmes came, there weren’t as many _bits_ left as there should have been.  Rumour has it that the mob ate him.” 

“Lovely.”   

“Langara is the planet that ate its Prior.  None of the four Estates is very nice.  We all have dark pasts.  Jonas says that's why the Union is going to work.  We deserve each other.”

“Everything here is complicated,” Sam said. 

“Complicated is exactly the word,” Kianna said.  “Everything on Langara is complicated.  People have very well-kept secrets here.  Everyone is careful about what they say.  There are things people just don’t talk about, until you know them very well.” 

“I’ve noticed that.” 

Sam lowered herself further into the water. She was starting to relax. 

"Kianna, what happened when the Ori came?"

"The Ori..." Kianna was quiet for a moment.  "We weren't converted, you know.  We were conquered." 

"I know."

"They sent a Prior.  We thought he was a schizophrenic at first, just a harmless lunatic, ranting about gods.  Nobody believes in gods on Langara.  When he realized we don't have religion here, and we were never going to worship his fairy-tale Ori, he called in the ships.  We lost a lot of troops, from all the Estates, before we surrendered."

"Why didn't they just bomb the planet?"

"Nobody knows," Kianna said.  "Langara is basically a bomb with continents, it would have been easy to destroy us.   Instead they turned over all our industries to printing copies of their stupid book.  Millions and millions of them.  If you won't worship, you will work, they said.  You will serve the Ori whether you want to or not."

"Oh," Sam said.  So _that_ was where all those copies of the Book of Origin had come from!

"That was when the Armed Resistance started.  In a way, the Ori made the Union.  They taught us to stand together and fight together.  Nobody will ever invade this planet again."

"What about the Fourth Estate?"

"The Fourth Estate aren't invaders!" Kianna said.  "The Fourth Estate are us.  We are them.  That's why they're the fourth bar on the flag, and the fourth finger in the salute.  They might have come from off-world but they're part of Langara now.  Jonas will introduce you to some of them tomorrow, in Tirania." 

"I'm curious to meet them."  Aliens?  Humans?  She hadn't seen anyone here who didn't look fully human. 

Kianna sat up in the water.  The steam glistened on her bare breasts.  "Don't blame Jonas," she said.  "He will do anything for the Union; _anything._   And I want you to know, I’m right behind him in everything.  Everything he is, I am.  Don’t be upset with Jonas until you _know_ how complicated things are on Langara.” 

“I won’t be upset with Jonas,” Sam promised.  “I don’t know how I _could_ be upset with him.  He’s a good man.” 

“He’s the best of all good men,” Kianna said.  _“That_ part of my life is never complicated." 

* * *

 

 After breakfast, Jack and Jonas caught a tram to the city centre. 

Kelowna City looked like an American city from the 1940s.  The streets were thronged with trams,  pedestrians, horse-drawn carts, and cars.  Street-traders blocked the sidewalks, pushing people into the centre of the road. Nobody minded because Kelownan cars didn't go very fast.  It was like walking through a Second World War movie, Jack thought.

They walked down to the river, and bought hot roasted chestnuts from a vendor on the wharf.  They ate the chestnuts under the trees, and then Jonas carefully ate the paper packet the chestnuts had come in.  Ferries crossed the cold water.  A giant air-ship cruised overhead, her sky-sails fully extended. 

“You wanted to go shopping,” Jonas said. 

“Yeah,” Jack said.  “I want to look at jewellery.”     

 _“Jewellery?”_ Jonas said, blinking in surprise. 

“I want to buy Sam a present.”    

“Ah, that’s nice,” Jonas said.  “I know where to find a good jeweller.  Marrionce and Sons, on Brinker Street.” 

“Let’s go there, then.” 

A few minutes later, Jack pushed open the door to a small shop.  He stopped in the doorway. 

The wall facing him was covered with clocks.  Hundreds of clocks, clocks of all shapes and sizes.  The wall was alive with the sound of ticking, and the movement of a hundred pendulums.  The shop was dim and quiet, except for the whispering voices of the clocks.  The bell above the door jingled as Jonas closed it behind him. 

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?”  An old man came out from a door behind the counter.  He looked at Jonas, and then did a double-take.  “Aren’t you Magister Quinn?”

“I am,” Jonas said, looking uncomfortable. 

“I saw you when you gave the commencement speech at the Naval College last year!  It’s an honour to have you in my shop, Magister!”

Jonas looked at Jack, and Jack saw the exact moment Jonas decided to throw _him_ under the bus of unwanted fame instead.  "You might recognise my friend as well.  This is Jack O’Neill, of SG1.” 

 _Bastard,_ Jack thought, promising to push Jonas into the first puddle he could find. 

“The famous SG1?  Hargo Marrionce, at your service!  What can I do for you?” 

“I’m looking for a ring,” Jack said. 

“Right here.”  Marrionce led the way to a counter, topped with a glass case. 

Jack bent over to see.  Rows of jewellery glittered on silk.  Soft glowing gold and silver, sparkling stones.  Earrings, pendants, and rings, impossibly delicate, inviting his touch. 

“Anthing in particular take your eye?”  Marrionce asked. 

Jack’s eyes had already locked onto one particular ring.  It had a blue stone, and it glittered. “That one, there,” he said.  “The sapphire.” 

The old man unlocked the drawer, and brought out the box.  He laid it on the counter.  “That one is a naquarine.” 

It was a blue stone on a gold band.  He picked it up carefully.  It was delicate, without being ornate.  The cut of the stone reminded him subtly of the chevrons around the Stargate.  “Naquarine?”  he asked, without looking up. 

“A diamond, with a naquadah inclusion.  Very pretty.” 

Jack straightened his back, holding the ring between his fingers.  This was it.  This was the ring. It was blue, for Sam’s eyes.  And gold, for her hair.  And it was from another world.  And the design was simple, and beautiful, just like his beautiful, elegant, precious Sam. 

And most importantly, he could already see this ring on her finger, in his mind’s eye.  He could see her wearing it;  _his_ ring, for everyone to see. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Jonas asked. 

“I’m thinking about it,” Jack said. 

“What is it?”  Marrionce asked. 

“It’s an Earth wedding custom,” Jonas explained.  “Married couples exchange rings.  Like a coterie pin.”  He touched the little red pin he wore on his collar. 

“Oh, that’s _very_ sweet,” Marrionce said. 

 _Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue_ … The rhyme ran through Jack’s head. Sara had a blue ribbon woven around her bridal bouquet when she walked up the aisle.  Jack could still remember the scent of lavender. 

The chill ran down his spine.  _No,_ he told himself.  This was a mistake.  He was going to screw up this marriage the way he screwed up the first.  He was going to hurt Sam the way he had hurt Sara. 

No.  He was being selfish.  He loved Sam, but he could not ask her to marry him.  She deserved a man who would never hurt her. He forced himself to put the ring down. 

There was a jangle as the door to the shop opened.  Jonas’s driver put his head around the door. 

“Calro, what are you doing here?” Jonas said, seeing his driver.  “Jack, I’ll be right back in a minute.” 

The bell rang as he went out.  A moment later Jack was alone with the shopkeeper. 

“Have you decided?” Marrionce asked. 

Jack felt the treacherous tears burn under his eyelashes.  “Not this one.” 

“Very well,” Marrionce said.  He slid the case back under the counter.  “If you change your mind, you know where I am.” 

“Thanks,” Jack said. 

This was the Ring, and Jack knew it.  Except that no ring _could_ be the Ring.  He would sooner tear his own arms off than hurt Sam the way he had hurt Sara. 

He needed to think about something else.  He looked at Marrionce.  He finally had a chance to speak alone with an ordinary Langaran!  Years of visiting worlds through the Stargate had taught Jack that you learned more in the streets than you did talking to rulers!  “Are you looking forward to Union Day?”  he asked. 

“Looking forward to it, yes, sir.”   

Langarans guarded their words warily.  People here were cautious about what they said to others.  He remembered Jonas's wary expression, the first time they had met. 

“I’m not from around here,” Jack said.  He leaned on the counter.   “You can talk to me.  What do you _really_ think of the Union?”

 “Well…”  Marrionce looked as if he was weighing his words.  “Well, I’ve heard people say that the strong will stay strong, and the weak will stay weak.” 

“Do you think things are going to be better for Kelowna?” 

“We’ll still have the Rash, won’t we?  I’ve heard people say that it’s all very well saying sorry, but you can’t _eat_ sorry.”

“They do say that,” Jack said. 

“But I don’t know.  Minister Virago knows what he’s doing.  He’s a great man, and so is the Magister.”

“And the Fourth Estate?”  Jack asked.  “Have you met any?” 

“Yes, I’ve met a few.”  The shopkeeper’s eyes went to the window. 

Jack glanced over his shoulder.  He could still see Jonas outside,  talking to Calro.  “Where did they come from?” 

 “Oh, all over the wormhole nexus.   _Good_ people!  We would never have seen off the Ori without them!  _That_ you can quote me on!”   

He seemed to be about to say more, but the bell jingled again as the door opened.  Jonas was back. 

“Trouble?” Jack asked him. 

“Not at all,” Jonas said.  “Have you chosen a ring, yet?” 

“Not this one,” Jack said.  “So long, Mr Marrionce.”

Jack and Jonas left the little shop and its clocks, and went back to the street.  Calro had disappeared. They walked up the street, side by side. 

“Don’t tell Sam about this,” Jack said. 

“Don’t tell _Sam?”_ Jonas echoed, staring at him.    

“She doesn’t know.” 

“Surely she has to find out eventually?” Jonas asked.  “Unless I have your marriage customs _very_ wrong …”

“I’m still thinking about it.” 

“What’s there to think about?  Married life is great!  Even if mine was an arranged marriage.” 

 _An arranged marriage,_ Jack thought.  That was one way of putting it!  Kianna Cyr had been infested by a Goa’uld parasite when Jonas had met her.  Jonas had fallen in love with a Snake without knowing it.  Which meant that the Snake had loved him with Kianna’s body against Kianna’s will.  Jack didn’t know how any relationship could survive that, but somehow Kianna and Jonas had made it work. 

Jack had walked on a few paces, before he realized that he was walking alone. Jonas had dropped back.  He was standing a few feet back, and looking at Jack with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“Something wrong?”  Jack asked. 

“There’s something I want to show you.  Something only my friends know about.” 

“Something embarrassing?” 

“No,” Jonas said.  “Yes.  But it’s important.  You said you wanted to see _everything_ about Kelowna.”

“No museums!”    

“It’s not a museum.  It’s on Carlton Ditch.  A few blocks up that way.  This is something you have to see, to understand.” 

“Lead the way, then,” Jack said. 

 They walked on.  The streets were full of lunch-time office-workers now.  Nobody spared a glance at Jack, for which Jack was grateful.  Two blocks uphill from the river, they turned a corner onto a wide street. 

Jonas stopped.  “This is Carlton Ditch.”    

Jack stopped, and looked around.    

Carlton Ditch looked different.  The street was wide, but there were no shop-windows, just walls.  No traders had set up stalls on this sidewalk.  No-one dawdled.   

Jonas pointed across the street, beyond the passing cars.  “That’s where my parents died.”

“Car crash?” 

“No,” Jonas said.   “In there.  That building is the Bureau of State Security.”

Jack took a second look.  The building opposite was an imposing tower block.  It was set back from Carlton Ditch behind a high wall.  “I don’t understand.” 

“Both of my parents were executed by the BSS. In there.” 

For a second, Jack didn’t understand.  “ _Jesus!_   Jonas!  Executed?”

Jonas’s eyes gave nothing away, but he was staring at the building across the street as if he wasn’t seeing it.  “They were charged with dissent and hanged.” 

“Jesus!” Jack stared at the BSS building. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Jonas said.  “They were writers.  One night the police came to the house in the middle of the night and took us all away.  I never saw them again.” 

“How old were you?”

“Nine.” 

 _“Nine!”_   

“I spent a year in a re-education camp, and then three years in a State School.  My grandfather got me out.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Jonas!”

“Stop saying that,” Jonas said, looking uncomfortable.  “Other people had it _far_ worse than me.  I don’t have a right to complain.”

“I think you’ve got plenty of right to complain!” 

“I knew you’d say that,” Jonas sighed.  He looked down at the ground, very glum.  For a moment, the smile had slipped. 

“How do you go on from something like that?”  Jack asked. 

“I don’t know,” Jonas said.  “I just did.  My parents died.  Time passes.  Wars end.  Life goes on.  I got out of school, and went to university, and here I am.  ”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“The BSS is going to be dissolved soon. The files are open now, so I can find out what happened if I want to, but I don’t want to.  Knowing won’t bring them back.” 

If he was Daniel, or Teal’c, Jack would have reached out and touched their shoulder, but with Jonas he didn’t know what to do.  He didn’t know what would console a man as closed and private as Jonas Quinn. 

“I’m sorry, Jonas.” 

Jonas turned to face Jack.  "And now you _know_ why I have to prove myself.  Why I have to _work_ to be trusted.  I’m the son of two executed traitors, and everyone knows it.  But I _am_ loyal to Kelowna, you know.  Loyal until death. 

A country that could send a nine-year-old to a re-education camp didn’t deserve loyalty, Jack thought.  But he didn’t say it.  There was something in Jonas’s face that warned him not to. 

"I am loyal to Kelowna," Jonas said.  "Even if I have to dismantle Kelowna to save it – I am loyal. I will always do what I think is best for my country.  And for me, that means the Union.”

"I know," Jack said.  "You've always put your country first." 

Jonas looked at the BSS building one last time.  “Come on, let’s walk.  We don’t want to be seen staring at the BSS.  There’s nothing left here, now.” 

“Jonas!” Jack said, but Jonas was already walking away. The young man's back was rigid.

Jack gave the ugly building another look.  For a moment he could almost feel it looking back at him.  He turned, and walked after Jonas. “Let’s do lunch,” Jack suggested, quietly. 

Jonas raised his head.  For a moment his placid calm mask had slipped, but now Jack saw him draw it on again by sheer force of will. 

“Yeah, let’s do lunch.” 

* * *

 

Kelowna City Central Railway Station was a large wrought-iron construction.  The arched roof was open to the sky over the rails, where the  steam locomotive was waiting.  The engine already had a full head of steam, and it was puffing clouds across the platform.    Jack and Sam walked forward and stared up at the great locomotive. 

“It’s _bigger_ than I expected,” Sam said.  She was used to aircraft, but this monster was impressive.  The steam made it feel alive, as if it was breathing.  Raindrops shimmered on the shiny black steel. 

“It’s got to get all the way over the Steen Tor Pass,” Kianna said.  “Hello!  There’s Dirk!” 

Dirk Virago walked out from the station waiting room.  He looked around the platform, until he spotted them standing near the locomotive, and then he walked to meet them.  A pair of large young men walked with him, a few feet behind him. 

“Dirk!” Kianna said.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Kianna,” Virago said.  He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.  “I came along to wish General O’Neill and Colonel Carter well.”   

"It's going to be an interesting trip," Sam said. 

“General O’Neill, won’t you walk with me?”  Virago asked.   

“Sure thing,” Jack said.  He nodded Sam an order to stay with Kianna.  He strolled along the platform with Virago.  The two large young men strolled along after them. 

 “You’ve got body-guards?” Jack said.    

“I need body-guards,” Virago said.  “There are still people who want me dead.” 

“But you’re here?” 

“I must show that I have no fear.  I must go out, and meet people, and convince them to put their differences aside.  But at the same time, I have to avoid getting assassinated by extremists who want to scupper the Union.  It’s a balancing act.”

Jack remembered Jonas’s driver, tracking him down that morning to deliver a telegram.  Virago wasn’t the only one who had body-guards, he realized.  The Magister of Kelowna must have perimeter security around him as well. 

“You didn’t come to see us off,” Jack said. 

“No,” Virago said.  “I came to see what you thought so far.” 

“You don’t need to ask.  I’m all in.  Jonas told me about his parents.” 

“He _told_ you that?”  Virago’s step hitched with surprise.  “He _never_ talks about his parents, _ever.”_

“Any country that sends a nine-year-old kid to a re-education camp _deserves_ to be pulled down.” 

“I’m going to pull down the BSS,” Virago promised.  “And the slave trade in Tirania, and the feudalism in the Andari Federation – all of it.  It’s going to take time.” 

The train was painted dark green, with brass fittings.  Some of the passengers had already drawn down the shutters on their windows, getting some rest before the journey started.  People were bidding each other farewell.  All around, porters were wheeling trolleys, and swinging suitcases aboard.  

“I still have questions,” Jack said.  “I haven’t met any of the Fourth Estate yet.” 

“Jonas says he’s going to introduce you to Zindair tomorrow,” Virago said. 

“And Zindair _is?”_

“Zindair was one of the first seven who founded the Fourth Estate.  She’s very well respected.” 

“Then I’m all in.  I’ll be there at your ceremony.  I’ll even make a speech if you want.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

Their handshake was broken by a bellow. 

 _“All aboard!”_ The conductor was marching along the platform.  “All aboard for Tiran City!  All aboard!” 

Other passengers were saying a last goodbye, and jumping into the train.  “Gotta go,” Jack said. 

“Enjoy your trip,” Virago said. 

The nearest door was open.  Jack reached up for the polished brass handles, and pulled himself up into the train. 

“All aboard!” the conductor bellowed from the platform.  “Last call!  All aboard!”  There was a shrill whistle, and a moment later the train jerked, as the locomotive took up the slack.  The platform started to slide past the window.  Virago started to move away from Jack.  He raised his hand in the Langaran salute, and Jack returned it with the US version. 

They were on their way to Tirania. 

…………………………………

 


	4. The train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the action starts!

Sam woke up with a jolt. The rocking of the train must have sent her off to sleep. She stretched lazily. 

Jack was sitting on the opposite seat, facing her.  He had been watching her sleep.  There were just two of them in their little wood-panelled compartment.

“Hey,” she said.  “Where’s Jonas gone?”  

“He went off to find the dining car.”

“That figures,” she said.

“Reckon I'm starting to figure out why he did nothing but _eat,_ the whole time he was with us.” 

“Kelowna’s food shortages are a lot worse than he let on,” Sam agreed. 

She looked through the window at the passing scenery. They had left the flat farmland behind during the evening.  The train was pulling through rolling hills, and he could see herds of ponies and musk-oxen.  The fields were silvered with frost. 

When she looked at Jack, he was still watching her, with that sombre look on his face. She didn’t like that serious look.  A pang of worry darted through her.  

“What's wrong?” she said.  

“Nothing's wrong," he said, too quickly. "Why would there be?”   

“I know something is wrong. I know you too well, Jack.” 

“Nothing is wrong. We're on a romantic mountain vacation!  We're with people who know we're together, and the UCMJ and the Air Force is miles back that-away! Why would anything be wrong?” 

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward, and patting his knee.  “Come on.  We’re a _team._   You know I’ve got your back!  We've never had a problem talking to each other before! But I know you're pulling away from me, and I don't know why! Talk to me!”

It's nothing, I swear."

She looked out of the window, and bit her lip.  “Jack.  Are you having cold feet? About me? About us?”

Dammit!  She was too perceptive!  Jack couldn’t hide anything from this woman!  She had ten times the brains he had!  But he could not let her know that he was having cold feet about the wedding.  He could not tell her how the prospect scared him.  He couldn’t even tell her about the Ring, and about how desperately he wanted to see it on her finger. 

He leaned forward over the leg-space between the seats, and leaned his hands on her knee.  “Is this about last night?”  he asked. "About what I said? Because we just need to talk about it." 

“It’s not _only_ about last night.  There’s something going on.  Jack, if you don’t love me, if there's someone else, please tell me.

“I do love you!” he said fiercely.  The idea that she could doubt that made him want to growl.  “I will always be there for you, Sam!  I made that promise.”

“But…” she said. 

 He couldn't bring himself to lie to her face.  “Listen, it’s not you. It’s _me.”_  

He realized what a cliché that was the second after he had said it.  She looked as if he’d punched her in the stomach.   He saw her flinch. 

“No, really! I know how that sounds! Literally Sam, it's all me! I want to retire!”

She pulled back from him. He could see the doubt in her huge blue eyes. He ached that he was doing it again, hurting her without wanting to, worrying her without planning to. He wanted to put his arms around her, stroke her shoulders, reassure her.

“You said that before,” she said. 

“Yeah, I know. But this time it’s different.  The Goa’uld are gone.  The war is over.  One way or another, this is going to be my last off-world mission, and then I’m retiring.  I've already planned it out.  Landry's going to take over my place at Homeworld.”

“Jack, you know what we were going to do when you retired.”

They had made a deal, that night in the desert under the Perseid meteor shower, curled up under her space-blanket on the back of his truck.  They’d made love under the falling stars, and made a promise to each other.  When they were free to love each other openly, publicly, they would get married.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.  “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come here.  Sam, I was married before…” 

“To Sara,” she said. Her blue eyes were suddenly filled with pain.  "There _is_ someone else, and it's Sara."

“Sam, listen to me!” he said, struck by that pain.  “I lost Sara! I don’t ever want to make the same mistakes again!  I couldn’t handle that,  after Sara, after the way our marriage ended…” 

The door of their compartment banged opened.  Jonas put his big smiling face around the door. “Hey, fellas!” Jonas said cheerfully. 

“Jonas!” Jack said.  He glared at Jonas, in the hope that his face would drive the Kelownan away, but of course it didn’t. Jonas could be very oblivious.

 Jonas parked himself down next to Sam.  "I found the Dining Car!"

"Sam, we'll chat later, okay?" Jack said. "I promise, we'll have this out."

Jonas looked shocked. "I'm sorry, did I barge into a private conversation? I tend to do that. I can leave if you want me to..."

"Yes," Jack growled.

"NO!" said Sam, and she shot out her hand and gripped Jonas's arm tightly. "Please stay, Jonas!"

"Okay... " Jonas said, looking confused. “I came to tell you both - I just had a vision!” 

“A vision?” Sam said, frowning at Jonas.   “Like when you had a brain tumour?” 

“Yup!  And Sam, you’re in it!” 

“I didn’t know you still _had_ those,” Sam said. 

“Now and then,” Jonas said.  “Why do you think I’m not allowed to drive? I lost my drivers license. That's why I have Calro.”

“Jonas?”  Jack asked, concern for Jonas replacing his frustration.  “Are you healthy?” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Jonas said, waving off their concern.  “I’m still in remission.  Whatever Nirrte did to me hasn’t come back. I just black out and see visions now and then.”

 “What did you see?” Sam asked. 

“I saw you.  You’re walking in deep snow, downhill.  And there are three of you, walking together.  And all three of you are in some kind of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What does it mean?” 

“I don’t know,” Jonas said.  

“It might not come true,” Sam said. 

“Oh, no, they all come true,” Jonas promised, earnestly.  "Even the stupid mundane ones eventually come true.  Usually in about two weeks." 

“That’s reassuring,” Jack said.  He looked at Sam. “Next time you’re in snow, look around for the other two people?” 

“I’ll try to avoid snow for the next few weeks, if it means trouble,” she promised. 

The train ran on through the rest of the afternoon, eating up the miles. They had supper in the dining car and found that the passengers had heard about the two Tau’ri.  The train was carrying a mixture of Kelownans and Tiranians, and they all wanted to meet the explorers from Earth. 

The train was also carrying a pair of BSS agents.  Jonas pointed them out over supper: two sombre men in black suits, sitting by themselves, backs to the carriage wall.  None of the other passengers was talking to them.  They just sat there.  "No, no, don't stare at them," Jonas said. 

"Are you sure they're BSS?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Jonas said.  "They're watching all three of us."

"What do we do about them?" Jack said.

"Nothing," Jonas said.  He didn't stare at the two men, but his voice was way too calm.  "They won't follow us to Tiran City.  I'll warn the Tiranian Border Guards when we get up to the pass, and they'll turn them back." 

"Good," Sam said.  She tried not to look at the two men, but she could still feel them, sitting there, watching her, waiting for her to do something wrong.  Even here, even in a mountain half-way up a mountain, Kelownans were being watched.  Just knowing they were there made the air feel oppressive. 

They crossed the Osg River at nightfall.  noon, clattering over the narrow railway bridge, and left the farms behind them.  The train was climbing, every hour, stopping only for water. 

By the time they went to bed, they were in the foothills of the mountains, and climbing steadily. 

They drew down the window blinds, and folded down the bunks.  The regular _chook-chook-chook_ of the locomotive rocked them to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, something was wrong with Jack. 

He looked haggard and tired, and he stayed in his bunk when Sam and Jonas went to have breakfast in the dining car.  When they came back, he was up, but leaning against the bulkhead by the window, his arms folded around himself. 

“Don’t feel great,” he admitted. 

Sam knew him too well.  Jack didn’t like showing weakness; she’d known him to hide broken ribs from her before. 

“Could be a touch of flu,” Jonas said. 

“Head hurts like a mother,” Jack said.  He pressed both hands around his forehead.    

“I’ll see if the steward has any aspirin,” Jonas said. 

“You have aspirin on this planet?” 

“Of course we do, we’re not savages.”  Jonas opened the compartment door and went out.

“Are you going to be okay?”  Sam asked Jack. 

Jack opened one eye and looked at her between his fingers.  “I’ll be fine.  Aspirin should knock it out.” 

“You should have come to breakfast,” she said. 

“Won’t keep it down.” 

 _“That_ bad, huh?” 

“I’ll be okay.  Don’t worry about me.” 

The steward came with water and  aspirin.  Jack accepted them gratefully, and sat back with his eyes closed.  “I’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

The train climbed steadily all morning.  Overnight, the landscape had changed. Trees and fields had given way to stone.  The steam engine was labouring harder, climbing a gradient of nearly one to eighteen. Up, and up, and up.

Sam ran down the compartment window, and leaned out into the cold air.  She could see the locomotive at the head of the train, as it pulled them steadily around the curves in the track.  The cold air nipped at her nose and cheeks. 

Now and then, she saw a few isolated buildings, hidden in the valleys below.  “People _live_ up here?” she asked.  

“Naquadah prospectors.  _Very_ tough people.  Even the Army leaves them alone.”

“Where’s Mount Kallan from here?” 

“East.”  Jonas pointed.  “But we can’t see it from here.  Tower Peak is to the west.  It’s 2 834 pylons high.”

“That’s high?” Sam said. 

“Tower Peak is the highest peak on the planet.  The Steen Tor is so high, it blocks the rain from the Kelownan Plateau.  You’ll see how the climate changes as soon as we’re in Tirania.”

“Is that why Kelowna is so short of food?”

“That, and Tirania and the Andari figured out they could really hurt us if they stopped trading with us.”

Jack moved so suddenly he almost fell over Sam.  He threw himself out into the corridor. 

“Jack!” Sam said.  She got up and went after him, but he was bolting. 

She followed him to the end of the carriage, and into the little wash-closet.  He was leaning over the commode, being sick.  “Jack?” 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, head-down. 

Jonas was trying to crowd into the tiny cubicle behind her.  “Is he all right?” 

“No,” Sam said, feeling the twinge of dread.  She put her hand on Jack’s back, but she could hear him coughing and spitting. 

“I’ll be fine!” Jack protested.  He was still leaning over the commode,, holding onto the grab bar for support.  He felt blindly for the roll of paper, and pulled off a wad for his mouth. 

After a minute he was able to walk again.  Sam and Jonas got him back to their compartment, and wrapped a blanket around him. 

Sam sat next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.  He liked that.  He didn’t put his arm around her, but he took her hand and threaded his fingers into hers.  “I’ll be fine,” he promised.  “I’m Minnesota tough.  Don’t worry about me.”

When she looked up at Jonas, he was watching her.  He was frowning, forming two neat vertical lines on his forehead.  “Hey, Sam.  Can I have a word?”  He tilted his head toward the compartment door. 

“Sure, Jonas.” 

She freed her hand and got up, leaving Jack under his blanket.  They left the compartment, and walked down the corridor.    

“He’s getting worse,” Jonas said quietly, when they were out of Jack’s hearing. 

“I know.”  She braced a hand on the wall, against the rocking of the train. 

“Do you think… I mean it is a possibility given his age… do you think he’s had a stroke?” 

“No,” Sam said, immediately.  “He has no other symptoms of a stroke.  This is something else.”

“It can’t be something you ate?” 

“He hasn’t eaten anything I haven’t eaten.” 

“How are _you_ feeling?” 

 “I’m fine,” she said.  “Just a cough.”

And a bit of nausea, but that was probably just the train.  She coughed again. 

At noon, Sam and Jonas went to have lunch in the dining car, but Sam found she had no appetite.  She left half of her dinner on her plate, which Jonas immediately finished for her.  

When they got back to their compartment, Jack was still sitting exactly where they had left him.  Sam could see instantly that he was looking worse. 

“I’m calling the steward!” Jonas left the compartment.   

“Jack,” she said.  She sat next to him, coughing.  “How are you feeling?” 

“Just tired,” he said.  “Like I’m pulling too many Gs.” 

Sweat shone on his face, and for the first time she saw that he was breathing heavily.  

“Do you want to lie down?”  she asked. 

“Okay.” 

She drew down Jack’s bunk, and helped him into it, and then piled blankets over him to keep him warm. 

The steward arrived in a couple of moments, with a medical bag.  He looked over Jack with the brisk efficiency of a paramedic. 

“Your pulse is fast,” he said.  “But you’re not feverish.”

“Maybe it’s a migraine,” Jack said, his eyes closed.  “Never had a migraine.  Maybe this is it.” 

“Quite so, sir,” the steward said, soothingly. 

He went out to the corridor, and Sam went to listen. 

“How long has he been like this?” the steward asked quietly. 

“Since this morning,” Sam said.  She coughed.

“It could just be something he ate,” the steward said.  “There is no doctor on the train, but I’m going to ask the Chief Engineer to radio ahead, and warn the doctor at the Border Post that we’re coming up.” 

“Thank you,” Sam said. 

“We’ll take care of him,” the steward said.  “We’ve never had a real Tau’ri on our train before.” 

“Thank you.”  She coughed again, and went back to Jack. 

“We’ll have a doctor look at you soon,” she said.  “As soon as we’re up at the Border.”  
“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled. 

“Try to sleep,” Sam said.  “Doctor’s orders?” 

“Wrong kind of doctor, Carter,” he said. 

But he closed his eyes, obediently.  He did sleep after a while.  He lay on his back, his head next to the window, with sweat on his brow and neck.    She watched him snore quietly. 

Nobody ever looked sexy fast asleep, but _God_ , she loved this man so much.  She wanted to stroke his brow, but she didn’t.  Instead, she watched him sleep. 

“He’s getting worse by the hour,” Jonas said quietly. 

“I know,” she said, without looking away from Jack’s face. 

“And so are you.”  

“I’m fine!”   

“That cough is getting worse.” 

She opened her mouth to argue, but broke down in a fit of coughing. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. 

Her coughing woke Jack.  His eyes popped open. 

“You’re sick too?” he said hoarsely. 

“I’m _fine!”_ she insisted. 

“Can’t you hear yourself coughing?”

“I’ve just got a bit of a hangover …”

“We haven’t had a drink since we got here…” 

“We must have!”  Sam tried to remember, but her memories were all fuzzy.  They had been here since yesterday?  Or the day before yesterday?  “It’s just a hangover.” 

“Something is wrong.”   Jack pushed himself up on his elbow.  “We’re both sick.”

“I’m fine!” 

“We’ll be at the Border in a few hours,” Jonas said.  “There’s a doctor up there.” 

“Jonas,”  Jack said. He was panting now, sweat shining on his face.  “Whatever this is, it’s getting worse by the minute.  You need to figure this out _now,_ before it gets any worse!”

“I’m not a doctor!” 

Jack sat up in his bunk.  He squeezed both hands to his head.  He was clearly forcing himself to think. 

“We’re not in any state to fix this ourselves.  I can barely see, and Carter’s not tracking up!  It’s up to you, Jonas!  Get that big brain of yours online, and figure this out!” 

Jonas nodded.  He stood up.  “I’ll call the steward.” 

Jack was right.  Sam _was_ feeling sick.  A band of pain was tightening above her eyes.  Her chest was tight; a sense of pressure, and a constant urge to cough.  She could _hear_ her own lungs, suddenly.   

“Something’s _wrong,”_ Jack said.  “And we’re the only sick people on the train, or we’d have heard by now.”

Jonas came back with the steward.  The steward checked Jack out again, listening to his chest, and feeling his pulse. 

And then Jack insisted that he checked Sam out too. 

“He’s right,” he said, listening to Sam’s cough.  “Whatever it is, it’s affecting _both_ of you.  You both have the same fast pulse.” 

“What is it?” Jack asked.  He was sweating. 

“I don’t know, sir,” the steward said.  “But you just have to hang on four hours, and we’ll be up at the Border.” 

“We can do that,” Sam said.  She reached out for Jack’s hand, and gripped it. 

“Wait!” Jonas said.  “Four hours … _up?”_

“Yes, sir…”

“Why didn’t I think of that before?” Jonas said, striking his forehead with his palm. 

“What is it?” Jack asked. 

“I might be wrong,” Jonas said.  “I’m not a doctor, I can’t give you a diagnosis, or anything like…” 

 _“Jonas!”_ Jack barked at him. 

Jonas stared at him. 

“Accept for the moment that you’re _not wrong!”_ Jack snapped.  “What is it?” 

Jonas turned to the steward.  “Can you find out what our elevation is here?” 

 “You think it’s the altitude?” Sam asked. 

“But we’ve never had a problem with the elevation before,” the steward said. 

“You’ve never had passengers from Earth before!” Jonas said.  “Find out for me?” 

“I’ll ask the engineers.”   The conductor left.

Jonas sat down.  “I hope I’m wrong …” 

“But it _can’t_ be the altitude!” Sam said.  “Pike’s Peak is at 14 000 feet.  We’ve been up there.  You were there when we hiked up there…”  She ran out of breath.   

“I know,” Jonas said.  “But it makes sense!  That’s why Jack gets worse every time he falls asleep.” 

“Work high, sleep low,” Jack said, half to himself.  He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed both fists into his head.  “My head hurts like a _mother._   God.  Is this what a migraine is like?” 

The compartment door opened, right on cue. 

“Sir?” the steward said.  “Chief Engineer says we’re at 2200 pylons.” 

Jonas jumped as if he’d been stung.  _“Stop the train!”_  

“Stop the train?”

“Tell the Chief Engineer!  He has to stop the train!”

“We can’t just stop in the middle of nowhere!”

 “You have to!  Or you’ll have two dead Tau’ri on your hands!  It’s the altitude!  It’s killing them!” 

“But we’re only at 2200 pylons!” the steward protested. 

 “On Earth, they have a _name_ for 2200 pylons!” Jonas said.   “They call it the Death Zone!  They can't survive up there!  _Stop the train!_   Pull the emergency brake, if you have to!”

The steward blenched. He hurried out. 

“How high is 2200 pylons?”  Sam asked.  

“Twelve feet in a pylon,” Jonas said.  “That works out to around 26 000 feet.”

“That’s higher than Everest Base Camp!” Sam said, shocked. 

“I’m so _stupid!”_ Jonas said.  “I knew you were both human, but I didn’t even stop to _think!”_

Sam opened her mouth to reply, but was taken over by another fit of coughing.  She felt as if her lungs were trying to turn themselves inside out. 

And when she caught her breath again, the train was stopping.  The brakes were squealing.  The train was shaking as the engineers in the locomotive and the guard carriage put the brakes on. 

Sam turned to the window, and looked out.  They were pulling into a narrow valley, lined with stone and ice. 

“We’re stopping,” she said to Jack.

The train shuddered to a final stop, and stood still.  The engine still went chuff-chuff; a steam boiler could not be switched off with the turn of a key. 

The sky was dark.   Snow was falling.  She was struck by the difference between the light and life inside the train, and the cold and dark and death out there.  The train was a coccoon of warmth on the mountain.   

But the train seemed as quiet as death now, without the rattle and clank of the wheels.

Sam could hear compartment doors opening.  She heard  voices asking why the train had suddenly stopped in the middle of nowhere. 

“We’re in trouble,” Jack muttered. 

“You’re not in trouble,” Jonas said.  “There’s a simple cure for altitude sickness.  We just have to get you down from here, before you start suffering from high-altitude oedema.” 

“Yeah,” Jack said.  His eyes went to Sam. 

The compartment door opened again.

“I ran to the guard carriage, and pulled up the emergency stop,” the steward said.  “The Chief Engineer is coming back now to find out why.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Jonas said. 

“I’m going with you,” Sam said.  “Jack, I’ll be back.”

“Not going anywhere,” he muttered, swallowing heavily.  “My head hurts too much.” 

The Chief Engineer arrived a few minutes later, after charging aft like an angry bull.  They met in the dining carriage. 

To Sam’s surprise, the Chief Engineer was a woman; a short stocky woman, rather like Dr Fraiser in build, but harder, and about two decades older.  She had one of her drivers with her, and seemed ready to bellow the steward’s head off, before Jonas explained. _Two sick passengers; altitude sickness; aliens; emergency._

The Magister of Kelowna’s name seemed to work magic, drawing the sting of the Chief's anger.  “How serious is it?” the Engineer asked. 

“In a few more hours he’ll be in real danger of dying, or permanent injury.” 

“Won’t he recover, now that we’ve stopped climbing?”

“No,” Jonas said.  “The Tau’ri can’t acclimatise to this altitude, no matter how long they stay up here.  That's why they call it the Death Zone.  The air is too thin for them.  We’ve got to get them _both_ down to a lower elevation.” 

“I’ve spoken to Kelowna City to warn them we’ve stopped.”  The Engineer rubbed her  face.  “But there’s nowhere to turn around before the Border itself.”

“We could just hang on until we can get over the top?” Sam said. 

“We _could_ try that,” the Engineer said.  “We’re closer to Tiran City than Kelowna now. Magister?”

“The Border post is at 2400 pylons.”   Jonas worked it out in his head.  “Twelve feet in a pylon, which works out to… 29 00 feet.  No.  That's Everest.  They’ll never make it without oxygen.  They have to go back.”

“There has to be something we can do,” the steward said. 

“The only way to save General O’Neill is to get him down.”

“Ma’am,” the steward said.  “Maybe we  can radio ahead to the Border and ask them to send a truck down to us, and then drive down the roads?” 

"In this weather?” the Engineer asked.  “You’ll be putting more lives in danger, not just two.”  She  saw Sam’s face, and said, “I’m sorry, Colonel, that sounded harsh.  But I’m responsible for every soul on this train.”

“I understand,” Sam said. 

“What we need is another train,” the Engineer said.

“Tiran City can send the Verona Express up to meet us,” the second driver suggested to the Engineer. 

“No, the Verona Express is too slow,” the Engineer said.  “He doesn’t have that much time.”   

“Or the Super?  The Super is the fastest train we have.  She can come up behind us, pass us on the 32-B, turn around, and take them down again.  ” 

“She’d have to be brought down the Central Line, and shifted to the Western Pass line, and then she’d still have to turn around at the Border.  She won’t get here in time.” 

Sam knotted her fists.  This was an engineering problem.  Screaming at engineering problems didn’t help, and she _knew_ that, but she still wanted to throw things, scream, beat her fists on the bulkheads. 

 _Jack was_ _dying_ , and these plodding idiots were talking about _train timetables?_  

“There’s no other train that can make it up that pass?”  she asked. 

“It’s the boilers, you see,” the driver  explained.  “Most locos can’t pull up those switches.” 

“Can’t you send an air-ship?” 

“The air is too thin,” Jonas said.  “That’s why the railway was built up here in the first place.”

“Or a helicopter?” 

“We don’t have any helicopters.” 

“Then that’s it!”  the Chief Engineer decided, smacking her fist into her palm.   “We’ll wait for the Verona Express from Tiran City.  We’ll shunt onto the 32B Green, and let her pass us.  And then the Verona Express goes for Kelowna as fast as she can.” 

“It’s going to be tight, sir,” the steward said. 

“You’ll have to keep the General comfortable until then,” the Engineer said to him.  

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Colonel Carter, I’ll keep you apprised,” the Engineer said. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can to get you and your husband home safely.” 

 _Husband?_ Sam noticed.  “Thank you.” 

The Engineer gave her a brisk nod, and marched away down the dining car.  She disappeared through the door at the end of the carriage, with her driver behind her. 

“We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.”  Jonas banged his fist on the train bulkhead, thinking.  “Wait for the Verona Express, or…” 

“There is no other way, Jonas,” Sam said. 

“There’s _always_ another way,” Jonas said.  “That’s the one thing Jack taught me.  There’s always another way – you just have to be prepared to pay the price.  This is my fault, I was stupid, and I have to fix it.  There is a radio in the train, right?”  he asked the steward.

“Yes, sir,” the steward said. “In the driver’s compartment.”   

“I need to ask the Engineer if I can call a friend.” 

“Does _he_ have a train?”  Sam said.

“No, but he _does_ have a ship.”

“You just said you can’t bring an airship up so high,” Sam said.   

“Not that kind of ship,” Jonas said. 

“Not that kind of ship?” Sam echoed, trying to remember how many kinds of ship there were. 

“Sam, can you go back to Jack?  Keep him awake?  Tell him, I’m going to make a plan.  This is all my fault, and I’m going to fix it…” 

* * *

 

Now that the train was stopped, the passengers were getting bored.  Some of them had climbed down into the deep snow, and were throwing snowballs at each other alongside the train.  

They were bundled up warmly, but they had plenty of energy.  They were laughing, faces red from the cold. 

“I don’t understand.” Sam leaned her head against the glass.  “Why are _they_ all right?” 

“We’re not human.” 

 “Don’t say that, Jonas.  You’re as human as I am.” 

“I’m not human, Sam!  I thought I was, but I'm not.  Do you remember when we were all captured by Nirrti, and she performed experiments on all of us?” 

“Vividly,” Jack said, sourly. 

He was also sitting up, but his eyes were closed.  Two cups of coffee and a fit of vomiting later, he looked worse than ever. 

“I didn’t tell you this at the time,” Jonas said, “But after Nirrte experimented on me, she didn’t send me straight back to the cells."

"No?"

"Actually, I woke up in her private suite.  Her boudoir.  I think she was offering herself to me.  Asking if I would consent to being her host.  Actually, it was very sexy.  Very erotic …”

 “Eeeuw!” 

“I said no, obviously.  I don't have anything against being a host, but on _my_ terms, not hers.  But she _was_ right about one thing.  She told me I wasn’t human.  That I was more than human.”

“She was lying,” Jack said.  

“She wasn’t,” Jonas said.  “I went back to the SGC, and I looked in the Base library.  You have only 46.  We Langarans have 48 chromosomes.  That makes us separate species. 

“Nirrte was trying to create a hok’taur,” Jack said.  “A more advanced host.” 

“I think Thanos beat her to it by a few thousand years,” Jonas admitted.  “I can hold my breath underwater longer than you.  I can eat things you can’t.  I think _I'm_ what Nirrte was looking for, all those years.” 

“And that’s why no-one has ever had a problem on this train before,” Jack  said.  “Langarans can breathe up here.”  

“People live up here permanently,” Jonas said.  “Fur trappers, naquadah prospectors…”  

“Nobody on Earth lives at 26000 feet,” Sam said.  She closed her eyes.  "Not even Sherpas."  

“Hey, you can’t sleep!” Jonas said. 

“Work high, sleep low, Carter,” Jack said.  

“I’m so _tired.”_  

“You just have to hang on a bit longer, Sam!  Both of you!  Not long now.  Help is coming!” 

“The Verona Express?” 

“No,” Jonas said.  “I called a friend.  Someone I know in the Fourth Estate.” 

Jack opened his eyes.  “The Fourth Estate are coming?” 

“Yes,” Jonas promised.  “Soon.” 

“Whoo-hoo, we’re getting to meet the Fourth Estate," Jack grumbled.  "Who would have thought all we had to do was _nearly die…”_  

* * *

 

Sam’s mind was drifting.  Half-formed thoughts flitted across her mind, but they were gone before she could catch hold of them.  She didn’t have the energy to speak, or the concentration to finish a sentence even if she did. Things that should have mattered to her just didn’t.  Nothing mattered to her now but the weird suffocating weight in her chest. 

She heard a voice.  “They’re here!”  It was the steward’s voice.

She opened her eyes.  The steward was standing in the doorway. 

“We need to get them both on their feet,” Jonas said.  “Sam…” 

“I can stand,” Sam said. She proved it by pushing herself to her feet, and then had to lean on the bulkhead for a moment to catch her breath. 

“Jack?”  she said. 

“Go away,” Jack muttered, without opening his eyes.  

“Come on, Jack!  Open your eyes!  We need to go.” 

“Can’t.  Doesn’t matter.” 

“Take his other hand,” Jonas said to the steward.  Together, they pulled Jack to his feet, and bundled him up in a borrowed parka, thick snow boots and a woolly cap.  His nose and hawkish brows poked out from between the parka and the hat. 

Jack was worse, Sam realized.  Far worse.  There was something _very_ wrong with him, as if he was half on the point of sliding off into unconsciousness. 

Sam was able to dress herself, interrupted by fits of coughing up foam from her lungs.  Then each of them got hold of Jack’s arms.  Together, they managed to steer him down the narrow corridor of the train. The door at the end of the carriage was open to the cold outside.  The Chief Engineer was there. 

“Good luck,” she said to them.

Someone had brought a step-ladder from the train door down to the ground.  Sam climbed down the steel steps to the snow. 

Jack followed her, awkward in the thick borrowed parka. As soon as he reached the ground, he sat down.  “Far enough.” 

“No, you can’t stop here.” 

“Need to catch my breath.  Give me a minute.” 

“You can rest soon!  It’s not f ar!” 

“Where are we going?” 

“We’re getting picked up.  But we need to get to level ground first.  Jack, get up.  Or I swear I’ll carry you!”

“I’m not that old.” 

“Then get up!” 

“Jack!” Sam reached down for Jack’s hand. 

Together, she and Jonas hoisted him to his feet, and pushed him back into movement.  They stumbled down hill, away from the train. 

The steward led them.  He had a thick steel flash-light, and he waved it across the snow.

There was a shout behind them.  Sam managed to turn. 

The two BSS agents were jumping out of the train, and marching downhill toward them.  "Oh, God, they're coming after us," Sam said. 

 _"Oh, no, you don't,"_ Jonas muttered.  He let go of Jack's arm, and marched straight back up toward the BSS men.  He met them half-way to the train, and there was a short stiff conversation, nose to nose.  Jonas was jerking his arm, directing them back to the train.  It was a stand-off, and Jonas did not relent.  One of them moved to walk around him, and Jonas moved quickly, cutting him off with a sharp gesture of his arm.  They seemed to be arguing with him, trying to intimidate him, but then something Jonas said made them both flinch back away from him as if he'd hit them.  And then reluctantly, both of them turned around, and retraced his steps back up to the train. 

"That's how things work on this planet..." Jack crooned sleepily.  "Soft power ... that moves along dotted lines ... and where do your dotted lines go, Jonas Quinn..." 

But Jonas was walking back toward them now, his face closed.  "They're not coming with us," he said.  “Get up, Jack,  we have to go now.” Between the two of them, they got Jack levered back up to his feet. 

The darkness was gathering around them.  The valley seemed bound in iron and shadow, and cold.  The steward held the torch, and it lit a circle of brilliant white snow as they trudged heavily.  The bright lights and warmth of the train were already far  behind. 

The breath steamed in front of Sam’s nose and mouth.  They were just walking, but it was an endurance test.  Every step took a huge effort out of her.  Without them on either side, she knew she would not have had the strength to continue, even though she had no idea of where she was going. 

“This is your vision,” Sam panted. 

“No,” Jonas said.  “This isn’t it.” 

“Has to be,” she insisted.  “Three of us.  Trouble.  Snow!” 

“I don’t know how, but this isn’t it.” 

Eventually, they had descended the mighty distance from the rail reserve to the floor of the valley. 

“This is flat enough,” Jonas said.  “This will do.”

Jack sat down in the snow immediately.  Sam sat next to him, trying to catch her breath. 

“Oh, you’re beautiful!” Jack said, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.  His face was icy-white against the brilliance of the snow and the flashlights. 

“Help me set out the torches,” Jonas said to the steward, opening theduffelbag. The two of them spent a few moments setting out the steel flashlights, wedging them into snow in a circle around Sam and Jack. 

“You better go back to the train,” Jonas said. 

“I don’t want to leave you just sitting out here,”  the steward said. 

“You’ve done everything you could.  Go.  Get yourself back in the warm.”

“Thank you, sir,” the steward said.  “And … good luck.”  He straightened his spine, and raised his hand in the Langaran salute.  His face was very serious. 

Jonas returned the salute, and the steward turned and left them alone, sitting on the snow in the circle of light. 

“And now?” Sam asked.  She was panting, even though she was sitting down.  It felt as if her lungs were suddenly too small to suck in enough air to feed her body. 

“And now we wait,” Jonas said.  “It won’t be long now.” 

“Jonas, there’s nobody here.”

Jonas looked as if he was going to answer, but instead he looked up. 

“They’re here.” 

Sam looked up.  Snowflakes were falling into her eyelashes. 

For a second, she thought the mountain was collapsing on top of them.  The sky was suddenly dark.  And then whatever it was up there started to solidify, growing harder, developing outlines through the clouds.  A huge shadow was falling over them. 

“The cavalry’s arrived!”  Jonas said.  He grabbed a flashlight and waved it over his head.  

“It’s an alkesh!” Sam said, staring up. 

But the ship was far too big to be an alkesh!   Twinkling lights glided silently overhead on the huge black belly.  The ship was so big it filled the whole narrow valley from wall to wall.  Beneath it, the powerful steam locomotive looked like a child’s train-set. 

It was a Goa’uld mothership. 

“It’s a _ha’tak!_ ” Sam cried out, staring up at the ship’s belly.  _“Jonas!_   Where did your people get a _ha’tak?”_

"The Fourth Estate brought her with them," Jonas said.

“Langara has a mothership,” Jack mumbled to himself.  “Well, of course they do.  Why would they _not_ have a mothership?  _Everything_ makes sense now..."

Sam bent down to him, but there was no time to talk. 

The rings of the ship’s transporter flashed down around them.  There was a brilliant flash of light, and the roar of the transporter. Sam squeezed her eyes shut against the noise and the light, and then they were gone.

* * *

 

Jack found himself sitting on the deck in his own personal snowglobe.

And as soon as he took in a breath, he knew he was going to be all right.  He sucked in another breath, and another, and with each breath he felt oxygen flooding through his body, setting his veins on fire.  _Air!  Rich warm air!_

"Sam!"  He sat up and looked around.  She was lying on her side on the deck in puddle of snow, coughing. 

“I need a medic here!” someone barked.  “Double-time if you please, Mr Kirkly!”

Sam sounded as if she was coughing up an ocean.  Oedema, he realized, but the ship’s medics were already clustered around her, kneeling on the deck, pressing stethoscopes to her back. 

“Get her to the sick-berth!” 

“Aye aye sir!  Stretcher bearers!” 

She was coughing frantically, but she was going to be fine.  They were pressing an oxygen mask over her nose, and rolling her into a stretcher. 

“Jonas!” the officer said.  “Are you all right?” 

“Handro!” Jonas said.  He was shaking the stranger’s hand.  “You were just in time!” 

“Glad the _Hercules_ was here to help!”  He turned to face Jack, and raised his arm in the awful Langaran salute. He had a long Daliesque moustache around his mouth and dark eyes.  His uniform was dark green, with four gold rings on his sleeves. 

“General O’Neill?  I’m Captain Handro Fortune.  Welcome to the _Hercules!_ We’ll have you back in Kelowna in thirty minutes!” 

 


	5. The Fourth Estate

Getting into the Naval Administration building at the Rotunda was easy.  They just showed up, and the sentries recognised them and let them in.  A few questions took them to the land-side office of the captain of the _Hercules._

 A navy yeoman showed them into Fortune’s office. 

“General O’Neill!  Colonel Carter!”  Captain Fortune jumped to his feet, and made the Langaran salute. 

“Captain Fortune,” Jack said, returning a US salute. 

“You’re out of hospital early!” Fortune said. 

“We sneaked out an hour ago,” Jack said.  “We’re both okay, thanks to you and your ship.” 

They had been very close to a serious problem – High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, in Sam’s case – which meant that Sam had actually been _much_ more sick than Jack had been.  He owed Sam’s life to the _Hercules_ being in orbit around Langara. 

“I don’t know if you remember my first lieutenant, Kirkly?” 

“Your servant, Sir,” Kirkly said.  He bowed low, in the Andari style.

“We wanted to come straight here and thank you personally,” Sam said. 

“It was nothing,” Fortune said.  “Magister Quinn called me and asked.  We were happy to help.”

“He’s a good friend.”

“All the Fourth Estate knows Magister Quinn,” Fortune said. 

“And the Fourth Estate brought you the _Hercules?”_  

“They did,” Fortune agreed.  “She may be old, but she’s a great ship.” 

“She was one of the last ships built by Poseidon,” Lieutenant Kirkly said, proudly.  “And Poseidon built some damn good ships.”

“She’s a big step up from submarines,” Fortune said.  “We were lucky to get our hands on her.” 

“Lucky,” Jack agreed.  “We managed to steal a few ships from the Goa'uld, but not a fully-functioning mothership.” 

“We didn’t steal her,” Fortune said.  

“It doesn’t matter to Earth if you _did_ steal her,” Jack said.  “The Goa’uld stole everything _they_ had.  You can't steal from a thief."  

“I beg your pardon?” Kirkly said. 

“You can’t steal from a thief,” Jack said, surprised by the expression on the lieutenant's face.

“What Jack means is that we have proof that the Goa’uld stole all their technology from other races,” Sam explained.  “They didn’t invent the Stargates, or the hyperdrives.  They didn't invent anything, really.  The Ancients left a lot of technology lying around, and the Goa’uld adopted them.”

“Parasites, all of ‘em,” Jack said.  

“Ex- _cuse_ me?” Kirkly snapped.  “Who are _you_ calling a parasite?” 

“Shut up, Mr Kirkly!” Fortune snapped. 

"Sir, I resent those remarks!" Kirkly snapped at Jack. 

“What’s eating _you?”_ Jack demanded, turning to face the lieutenant.  “The Goa’uld were parasites.  No better than tapeworms.” 

“I _am_ one of those tapeworms!”  Kirkly snapped, and his eyes glowed with anger. 

 “You _idiot!”_ Fortune bellowed, leaping to his feet.  His eyes glowed.  _“They’re_ _not supposed to know!”_     

“Crap!” Jack said, leaping up and away.  “He’s a Goa’uld!” 

“Stop them!” Fortune shouted, jumping forward. 

Jack jumped to meet him.  He drove an uppercut into the captain's nose.  It was a short savage punch, and it took Fortune by surprise.  The captain crashed backwards into a filing cabinet, and hit the floor. 

Jack whirled in time to see Sam Carter deal with Kirkly with the solid wooden in-tray, straight into his face. Kirkly staggered backward, and Jack brought a rabbit punch down on the back of his head.  Kirkly dropped. 

Both Goa’uld were down on the floor. 

“Okay!  _That_ was an unpleasant surprise,” Jack said, shaking his fingers. 

“Sir, they’re Goa’uld!” Sam said.  “Both of them!  And if _they_ are, who else is?  Their whole Navy could be infiltrated!” 

“We need to get out of here, and raise the alarm.”

“Tie them up, sir?” 

“No time for that!  That receptionist could come back at any time!  We just walk out, like everything’s okay.” 

“Yes sir,” Sam said, automatically. 

“Stop calling me sir!” 

"I'll stop calling you sir when you stop giving me orders!" 

"Fair enough." 

He opened the office door and ushered her out, and then closed it behind her.  They walked down the corridor, and trotted down the stairs. 

They managed to get out of the lobby, past the sentries, and walked out of the entrance doors into the daylight.  

“Don’t run,” Jack said. 

A few minutes later, they were out of the wrought-iron gates, and in the street.  A few passing policemen made Jack’s heart beat faster, but they didn’t even look his way.  After a few turns, they were out of sight of the Rotunda, lost in the city crowds.  

“Now what?” 

“We have to get back to the Stargate, and call for back-up from the Tok’Ra.  We don’t know how many Snakes are in their navy.” 

“The Academy of Sciences is a long walk,” Sam said.  “It’s the other side of the river.” 

“We don’t have to walk,” Jack said.  “I know a guy around the corner.  We can call Jonas from there.”    

He walked quickly through the streets, ticking off the landmarks he recognised.    He couldn’t read the street signs, written in the Langaran script – but after a few blocks he recognised the street, and saw the familiar window. 

“In here,” he said, and pushed the door open. 

The bell above the door jingled.  The wall of clocks was still the same, ticking and rushing in the quiet shop. 

“Genera O’Neill!”  The old shopkeeper came out from his back room.  “This must be the lovely lady!”

“Er, yeah,” Jack said.  “This is Sam.” 

“Congratulations, madam!”  Marrionce grinned like a delighted grandfather meeting a new grandchild. 

“Thank you,” Sam said, but her eyebrows asked _What the hell?_

“Have you come back for your ring?” Marrionce asked Jack.  

"What ring?" Sam asked. 

“No!” Jack said, desperately.  “I'm not here for that!  We’ve got a small emergency.  Can we borrow your phone?” 

“What is a … phone?” Marrionce frowned.  

“He means your wire,” Sam said.  “We need to call someone on your wire.” 

“Oh.  Yes, of course!”  Marrionce waved a hand to the end of the counter.  “It’s right there!  Help yourself!”   

Jack found himself looking down at a rotary dial.  When last had he seen a phone with a rotary dial?  Kelowna made him feel old.  He picked up the handset.  

“Dial one-one-one for the exchange,” Marrionce said, helpfully. 

He did, turning around the dial three times.  The line clicked as it connected. 

“Number, please.”  It was a woman’s voice, and she sounded bored. 

“Er, I don’t know the number.”

“Trunk number, please.”

“Um.  The Rotunda?”  

“You’re through…” _Clicka clicka clicka clicka._

“Rotunda Building, number please?”  It was another woman, as bored as the first.   

 “Magister Quinn’s office, please.”

“You’re through…”

  _Ring-ring._ The wire clicked as somebody answered.  “Magister Quinn, speaking.” 

“Jonas!” 

“Jack? Where are you?  I went to the hospital, but you already left.” 

“We discharged ourselves early.  Listen, can you pick us up?  It’s urgent.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’ll explain later, but we need a ride.  We’re at that shop.  The one with all the clocks?” 

“The jeweller?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.  And double-time, please.  We’ve got a problem.” 

Jonas didn’t mess around; didn’t ask stupid questions.“I’ll be there in ten.”

Jack took up a place at the window, looking out at the street.  He kept watch through the dark glass, while Sam listened to Marrionce’s lecture on the fascinating history of old Kelownan clocks.  She listened with a fascination that might actually have been genuine. Jack was just starting to worry that Sam was about to buy a clock, when he saw a familiar black car rolling slowly along the kerb. 

“There he is!”

“Thanks, Mr Marrionce,” Sam said. 

“It’s a pleasure, my dear,” Marrionce promised.  “You come back any time now, you hear?” 

“I will,” Sam said.  “You must tell me more about using naquadah as pendulums …” 

“We gotta go!” Jack said, and Sam followed him.  They left the shop, and hurried after the black car.  Calro saw them coming in the rear-view mirror, and the car braked.  Jack opened the back door, and they both jumped in. 

Jonas was sitting on the back seat. 

“Drive!” Jack said to Calro.  “Now!” 

“Where to?” Jonas asked. 

“The Academy of Sciences.  And hurry!”

“What’s going on?” 

“We’ll explain as we go.  Drive!”

“Go!” Jonas told Calro.  The car surged ahead.  “What’s going on, Jack?” 

“Your military has been infiltrated,” Jack said.   

 _“What?”_ Jonas said.  “Who?  _How?”_

“You said the Fourth Estate came from off-world?”

“Yes?”

“They brought a Goa’uld infestation with them,” Jack said.  

“No!”  Jonas said. 

“Captain Fortune is a Goa’uld.  And his XO is too.”

“That _idiot!”_   Jonas pressed one hand to his forehead. 

“And if the captain of the _Hercules_ is a Goa’uld, who knows how many more there?” Sam asked.  “Jonas, your whole navy could be infiltrated by now!”

“We have to get the warning out to the SGC,” Jack said, grimly.  “And call the Tok’Ra!” 

“Calro!” Jonas ordered.  “Back to the Rotunda!” 

Calro swung the car around the road.  The tyres squealed in a tight U-turn. 

 “We’ve just come from the Rotunda!” Sam said.     

“I know!” Jonas said.  “But we need to speak to Dirk Virago!”

 “He could be compromised too.” 

“He’s not,” Jonas said.  “I would know.  Trust me, Jack.  We need to talk to Virago!  Calro, _drive!”_  

Calro delivered them back to West Portico.  The sentries gave way to the black car.  Jonas hurried up the stairs, and Sam and Jack followed him.    

“Mr Virago is waiting for you, Magister,” the receptionist said. 

“Thank you!” Jonas said.  “Please make sure we’re not disturbed for the next hour!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

They went quickly down the same corridor, and in through the same double-doors, into the same conference room. 

Virago was sitting at the head of the table.  And Captain Fortune was standing at his side. 

“You!” he shouted as soon as he saw Jack.  His nose was already purple but his eyes glowed with anger..  “You broke my host's nose!”  

Jack pulled away, shock rippling through him at the sight of the Goa'uld's glowing eyes.  He spun around, but Jonas was already closing the big double doors behind him.  They boomed, solid and heavy. 

“What the hell is this?”  Jack shouted at Jonas.  “You led us into a trap!” 

"Jonas?" Sam said. 

“Virago, that man is a Goa’uld!” Jack shouted, pointing at Fortune. "And his XO, and God knows who else in your Navy!"  

“Yes,” Virago said.  “We know.” 

“Please sit down, Jack,” Jonas said, quietly. 

“You knew about it!” 

“I know about it," Jonas said.  "Because I am one too.” 

Jack opened his mouth.  The sick betrayal was swimming in his stomach.  At his side, he heard Sam make a strange strangled sound of horror. 

“I am a Goa’uld, Jack,” Jonas said.  “And I’ve been one for a very long time.” 

Virago leaned forward, his fingers steepled on the top of the table. 

“Welcome to the Fourth Estate.” 

Jack was breathing heavily, staring at Jonas.  He felt as if he’d been stabbed in the gut; as if he’d walked off a short pier in the dark, and plunged off a deep drop. 

“Captain Fortune, will give us a few minutes?”  Virago asked. 

 “He broke my nose!” Fortune said.  “It's going to take hours to fix all this cartilage! And Kestiar says Kirkly has a concussion!”

“I’m sure the General apologises for your nose,” Virago said.    

“I sure as hell do not!”  Jack said.  

“I’m sure you will, when you hear the whole story,” Virago said.  “Excelior?  Why don’t you and Captain Fortune go and get some ice for that nose, and let us talk to the General in private?”

The words were spoken quietly, but they _were_ a command.  Virago was in charge here.  Fortune glared at Jack, and stomped past him.  He pulled open the double doors, and slammed them behind him.

 “Please sit down, General?” Virago said.  “Both of you?  We have a lot to talk about.” 

“Are a couple of Jaffa going to burst through that door?” 

“We don’t have any Jaffa,” Jonas said.  “Please sit down?” 

Jack glanced at Sam, and she nodded.  They didn’t really have a choice.  Even if they had guns, they couldn’t shoot their way out of here.  There was a wall of sentries around this building.  They didn't have a choice.  Right now, they were prisoners.  

They both sat down, slowly. 

“I suppose you’re a Goa’uld, too,” Jack said to Virago.

“No,” Virago said.  “I’m just a man.” 

“Excuse us if we don’t believe you,” Sam said.  “This planet has been infiltrated by the Goa’uld.” 

“We haven’t been _infiltrated,”_ Virago said.  “We _invited_ them in.” 

“Wha…?”  Jack looked at Sam.  She was staring at Virago with her mouth open. 

“The Goa’uld are the Fourth Estate,” Virago said.  “The fourth bar on the flag. The fourth component of the Union.  Without them, we would never have withstood the Ori.  And without them, there would be no Union.  They are part of Langara, now.  They’re not _them,_ they’re _us.”_

 “You can’t trust the Goa’uld!”  Jack shouted. 

"We can, and we do," Virago said. 

“The Goa'uld are megalomaniac parasites… Liars and thieves!”

“Oh, _thanks!”_ Jonas said. 

“The Goa’uld can _never_ be trusted!  And I’m _not_ excepting you, Jonas Quinn, or _whoever_ you say you are!  _You’ve_ been lying to us for days!” 

“I was going to tell you the truth on the train,” Jonas said.  

“You mean, when we couldn’t call for help.” 

”Yes,” Jonas said. “But then you got sick, and there was no time.  This wasn’t what I wanted, Jack.  I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

“We know _now!”_ Jack snarled at him.  “Virago, you are going to let us leave, immediately.” 

“I'm afraid we can't do that yet,” Virago said.  “Not until you understand.” 

“We understand you’ve been infiltrated by the Goa’uld,” Jack said.  “That about covers it?” 

“We invited you here to Langara for a _reason,”_ Virago said.  “We need your help.” 

“Our help?” 

“The last rump of the Goa'uld are here.  The Replicators and Anubis, and then the Ori did everything they could do wipe them out - and they still have enemies.  If their enemies learn they're here before we're ready,  they’ll come here and try to wipe them out.  We need Earth’s help to protect them.” 

“What the hell makes me want to _protect_ the Goa’uld?  They’ve enslaved humans for thousands of years!”

“Humans … which we are not,” Jonas said. 

“The Fourth Estate is not a threat to you,” Virago said.   “The Goa’uld will never be a threat to humans again.”

“How do we know that?”

“Because they would rather have us, than you,” Jonas said.  “No Goa’uld who has had a Langaran host wants to go back to a human."

“You’d better show them everything,” Virago said to Jonas. 

“Now?”  Jonas asked. 

“All of it.  They won’t believe us if you don’t show them.” 

“Show us what?” Jack asked. 

“The Fourth Estate,” Jonas said.  “We have to show you what that means.  We’ve found a new way to live with the Goa’uld here. If you give me a chance, I’ll show you.  And then you’re understand.” 

“Oh, I doubt that,” Jack said. 

Virago leaned forward. 

“Listen to me, General O’Neill.  See what Jonas and Zindair show you, and then you can decide.  If you _still_ can’t bear to deal with the Goa’uld, then so be it.  You can go back through the Stargate, close your Iris, lock us our of your dialling computer.  But _listen_ first.  That’s all we ask.” 

“That’s all, is it?”

“Just listen.  And then decide.” 

Jack glanced at Sam. 

She’d been silent through the whole conversation, leaving the bad-cop routine to Jack, but he saw her nod slightly.  If Jonas betrayed them again, he could do it just as easily in here as out there.  And if they fought their way out, it would be easier _outside_ the Rotunda.  There was nothing to be lost by going with him, and a chance to escape. 

“Come on,” Jonas said.  “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

 

Calro was still waiting in the car.  They got in and closed the doors, and Calro started the car.  They drove. 

For a long time, nobody spoke. 

“I don’t know where to start,” Jonas said. 

“Start at the beginning,” Sam said, when it was clear that Jack wasn’t saying a word.  “How did it happen? When were you…” 

“Zindair was inside Kianna,” Jonas said.

“Zindair?” Jack echoed.  He had heard that name before. 

“She piloted the Deep Underground Excavation Vehicle, when we planted the bomb in the fault-line.  She took me just as the DUEV was coming back up to the surface.  I put my arms around her, and … that was it. It was quick.   You didn’t even see it happen.” 

“But Kianna’s Goa’uld died,” Carter said.  “It didn’t survive the mission.  We saw it on the X-ray.” 

“No, you saw her tail on the X-ray,” Jonas said.  “Zindair left her tail behind inside Kianna, the way Kowalski’s symbiote did.  Like geckos.” 

“But Kianna would have known as soon as it happened!  Why didn’t she say anything?” 

“Kianna knew it was the only way to save Zindair’s life.  She was protecting Zindair.  As soon as we got home, we tracked down the other six agents Baal sent here, and together we sent messages through the sub-light network.  Six months after _that,_ we introduced ourselves to the government of Langara.” 

“And _that’s_ why Langara stopped returning Earth’s calls,” Sam remembered.  She glanced at Jack. 

“We knew you would put the kibosh on the Fourth Estate, if we showed you before you were ready.” 

“The Fourth component of the Union.”

“No,” Jonas said, grinning.  “The fourth incarnation of the Goa’uld.  The First Estate was the empire of the Unas.  The Second Estate was the Children of the Gods, and the Third is the Tok’Ra.  _We’re_ the Fourth.”

“And what’s the difference?”

“We do things differently,” Jonas said.  “For one thing, hosts are _never_ taken by force.” 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Jack said. 

“You don’t have to _believe_ it, I can show you,” Jonas promised.  “And secondly, the Goa’uld here don’t take one host.”   

“The Goa’uld here don’t take _one host?”_

“They don’t have _just_ one,” Jonas said.  He saw the look on Sam’s face, and grinned at her.  “They have coteries.”

 “Coteries?” Jack said. 

“A collection of hosts.  Kianna and I share Zindair.  She moves back and forth between us.  _Usually_ in the bedroom, of course.”

“I _knew_ that wasn’t a cat!” Jack blurted. 

“Nope,” Jonas agreed, cheerfully.   

“We’ve never heard of a Goa’uld sharing hosts before!” Sam said. 

“Well, that’s why the Fourth Estate is different,” Jonas said.  “Every Goa’uld of the Fourth Estate has a coterie, to carry them, and serve them.”

“But why?”

“Because we’re not human!” Jonas said.  “We’re as different from you as the you are from the Unas.”

“That didn’t help the Unas,” Jack grumbled. 

 “But it’s true!” Jonas said.  “I’m not human!  I have 48 chromosomes, remember?  I can hold my breath underwater longer than you can.  I can tolerate high altitudes better than you can.  They’ve had to adapt to us.  And the way they’ve adapted is by using coteries. _”_

“Because you’re a different species?” 

Jonas tossed his head up.  Jack saw him do what Jacob Carter did so many times; hand over control of his body to his symbiote. 

Between one breath and the next, he was someone else.  Jonas’s perpetual smile cut out instantly. 

The nausea rose in Jack’s gut, taking him by surprise.  “Zindair?” he snapped. 

But rather than talk immediately, Zindair made himself comfortable in Jonas Quinn’s body.  The Goa’uld leaned his arm over the back of the seat, and crossed Jonas’s legs casually at the knees. "Ahhhh, that is much more comfortable..." Zindair said, through Jonas's voice, and the voice was the same.

"You don't do the Voice," Sam said, surprised. 

"Langarans think it is rude. Uncultured. Gauche."

Jack snorted.

“My dear sweet Jonas doesn’t like boasting,” Zindair said.  “What he is trying so hard _not_ to tell you is that his species is the hok’taur.”    

“The hok’taur?” Sam echoed. 

“Not a creature of legend after all, but a real species."

Sam glanced at Jack, and remembered for him.  “A more advanced host, with superior strength and abilities.  The goal Nirrte was working toward…” 

“I _remember,_ Colonel Carter, I was _there,”_ Jack growled.  He didn’t take his eyes off the Goa’uld.

“The Langaran species _is_ the hok’taur,” Zindair said.  “An advanced host, with powers beyond _anything_ the System Lords could have imagined!  Their physiology is different. And they use more than 20% of their neural capacity - more than twice as much as yours! Their minds are like a drug.  Literally intoxicating!  Overwhelming!  We could drown in their minds.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“That’s why we need to take coteries.  We can’t take over Langarans as we can you. Any symbiote who tries, risks amnesia, hallucinations, insanity, death..." 

“You take over their bodies!” Jack argued. 

“Yes, of course!” Zindair said.  “For a while.  But after a few months, they take over our _minds.”_

“I don’t understand,” Sam said. 

 _“Their_ personalities start to override ours.  In time, their minds absorb ours.  They are simply too powerful to control. We start forgetting who we are, who we _were._  We _must_ change hosts every few months, to disentangle our personalities from theirs, to preserve our sanity.  It is the price of the hok’taur – a price we are willing to pay.” 

“I’ve never heard of a symbiote _sharing_ hosts before!” Sam said. 

“But why should we not?” Zindair said.  “Why is it a rule that a symbiote only has _one_ host?  Why should we not have a coterie?”

“Because the hosts will run away?” Jack suggested, sarcastically.                                                                        

“Kianna is at Tickberry Terrace right now,” Zindair said, matching him sarcasm-for-sarcasm.  “She is very decisively _NOT_ running away.  She and Jonas are my coterie.” 

Jack looked at Sam.

“Why is it a rule that we should only have one host at a time?” Zindair went on, and gestured down Jonas’s body with one hand.  “Sometimes the same host for thousands of years?  Isn’t that _boring?_   Isn’t that dull?  If I can share the lives and the minds of a _dozen_ hosts, why would anyone settle with just _one?”_

Zindair turned to look over his shoulder. 

“We are here,” he announced. 

Jack looked up through the car windows.  They were pulling up through the front gates of the campus of the Academy of Sciences.  Instead of driving left toward the Stargate, the car turned right.  They drove into a brick quadrangle, and pulled up. 

“Come on,” Zindair said, opening the car’s door.  He got out. 

Jack looked at Sam. 

“They’re not letting us leave until we’ve seen what they want us to see,” she said. 

“We can’t even shoot our way out of this one,” Jack said.  His side-arm was in Landry’s safe, back in the SGC.  He climbed out of the car’s door, and turned to give Sam his hand. 

Zindair was standing waiting for them, placidly inhabiting Jonas’s muscular body. 

“This way.”

He led them up the steps and through the doors, and into a wood-panelled hallway that smelled like old tobacco smoke.  The building was clearly not empty.  Jack could hear voices upstairs; the clatter of a typewriter somewhere; a lawnmover in the distance.  It didn’t sound like the kind of place that you would expect to find a Goa’uld. 

The Goa’uld led them down a corridor, and into a library.  He moved to the long drapes and pulled one open, letting cold winter sunlight stream to the ornamental carpet.  

“This room is the doorway to the Fourth Estate,” he said.  “Think of it as the end, and the beginning.” 

In the centre of the room, in the middle of the carpet, was a chaise-longue.  Jack felt himself tense as he saw it.  He could guess what _that_ was used for.

Zindair saw his expression.  “All volunteers,” he said.  He was clearly quicker at picking up facial expressions than Jonas. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” 

“All volunteers,” Zindair repeated.  “The symbiote selects them, and the coterie members vet them, and then they are invited to join.  Joining a coterie is by invitation only.” 

“How do you choose?” Sam asked. 

“We all have our preferences,” Zindair said.  “Kestiar and Excelior like naval officers.  Cantero likes musicians.  Caedicia likes the medical field.  And I have Jonas and Kianna.  They are a pair of very superior hosts.  I find that two is a most satisfactory number.” 

“You collect people!” Jack said, horrified.  “You collect people like base-ball cards.”

“Not everyone says yes, of course,” Zindair said, unmoved by Jack’s protest.  “Not every host takes pleasure out of being controlled, as Jonas does.” 

 _The pleasure of being controlled?_   Jack shuddered at the idea.  

“But enough hosts say ‘yes,’ that the first taking has turned into something of a ceremony,” Zindair.  “First, they have to sign the coterie contract, agreeing to surrender control over their bodies.  We make sure they know what they are doing, so they have every chance to back out before it is too late. It _is_ a life-changing event for the host, after all.  There is no un-knowing.  You know everything in your host’s mind.  And your host knows everything in your mind.  There are no secrets between host and symbiote.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. 

“And then we give them a tranquillizer and a muscle relaxant, just to make the taking a bit easier on them.  And then the two hosts lie down together, right there, and the symbiote takes the new host through the mouth.” 

“Just like that?” Jack asked. 

“Just like that,” Zindair agreed. 

He walked over to the bookcase, and drew down a thick binder.

“Every coterie agreement is recorded here, in this room.  The names of every Goa’uld, and the names of all their coteries.  Names, signatures, contract terms, all of it.”

Sam walked over to the book and looked down at it.  But of course it was written in the Langara script.  All she could make out was a large red wax seal, and the signatures. 

 _“Everything_ on this planet seems to come with paperwork,” Zindair sighed.  He closed the book and put it back. 

“We’ve noticed.” 

“How do you know you haven’t let any of the System Lords in here?” Sam asked.  “How do you know a clone of Baal, or one of the sons of Ra hasn’t slipped in here?”

“We screen new arrivals,” Zindair said.  “The first thing we do is ask them to free their human host, immediately, and willingly.”

“Do they?” 

“It is non-negotiable,” Zindair.  “Most do.  The rest will be extracted.  One way or another, the human host _will_ be free.  That was my first agreement with Jonas.  And once the human host is free, the symbiote goes into a tank to wait for judgement.”

“Judgement?” 

“We ask the one witness who sees everything we do, hears every word we say.” 

“You ask the host.”

“Our host has access to all our memories.  If the symbiote has too much blood on their hands, then that is the end of them.”

“You kill your own kind?”

“Immediately, and without hesitation,” Zindair said. 

Jonas would have smiled, taking the cold bite out of his words.  Jonas smiled a lot.  Zindair did not smile at all. 

“The hok’taur are far too dangerous to share with any Goa’uld with evil intentions.  Jonas believes that an old enough symbiote can overpower even a hok’taur.  We can’t take that risk.”

“This isn’t just a library!” Sam said.  “This is a quarantine.” 

“I am the gatekeeper,” Zindair said.  “I am the guardian of the doorways. My duty is to look both ways.  In and out, forward and back, to the end, and to the beginning.  The end of the System Lords, and the start of the Fourth Estate, and the transition between them is mine to protect.  If my species can be saved, it will be saved here.” 

Jack walked to the windows.  He looked into the quadrangle outside.

 Carlo was leaning against the hood of the car.  He was lighting up a cigarette, as if there wasn’t a house of horrors right behind him. 

This place… it gave him the creeps.  The idea of symbiosis frightened him, on a deep visceral level.  He remembered the feeling of having Kanan inside him, seeing all his thoughts … an alien mind inside his own.  Cold shudders ran over his skin. 

“Jonas is saying to me that you don’t believe us,” Zindair said.  

“I don’t believe you.”  Jack turned away from the window. 

“Very well.  I have done my best.  The Union will cut ties with Earth.”   

“I will never believe a Goa’uld,” Jack said, slowly.  “But I’ll believe Jonas.”

Zindair’s head dipped.  The symbiote was handing back control to the host.  It was something he had seen Selmak do a thousand times, but it looked very strange on Jonas’s face.  He could immediately see the difference in stance, as Jonas filled up his own muscles again. 

“What can I say?” Jonas said. 

“Nothing,” Jack said.  “There’s nothing you can say.  But if Zindair really does jump back and forth between you…”

“She does…”

“Then show me.”

“What?” Jonas’s face showed his astonishment. 

“Show me,” Jack said.  “All you’ve done is talk. And Goa’uld are all liars, and Virago is a politician, and therefore also a liar.  There is literally nothing you can say.” 

“Kianna just passed Zindair to me.  She probably won’t be very happy about being asked to carry again so soon.”

 _“Excuses,_ Jonas.” 

“Not an excuse!” Jonas said, anger flickering over his face. 

“Then _prove_ it!  You say you _share_ your symbiote.  You say you’re part of a coterie.  Prove it!  Show me how this coterie thing works!” 

Jonas stared at him, with the unfocused expression that said he was conferring silently with his symbiote.   

“All right,” he said.  “We can go straight back to Tickberry Terrace.  Kianna won’t be happy, but she’ll do it.  And then you’ll see.” 

Calro was just finishing a cigarette.  He dropped the stub and ground it out as they came out of the front door of the building. 

A few minutes later, they were pulling up outside Tickberry Terrace, and Jonas went straight up to the front door.  He opened it and went inside. 

“Come on,” he called.  “I’ll find Kianna.” 

Kianna was in the front room, standing in front of her chalkboard.  It was covered in geological symbols, and the table was covered with large sheets of topographical maps.  “Jonas!”  she said.  “You’re back early, lover.”

“Hey,” Jonas said.  She went to kiss him. /p  He returned the kiss, and then held her back at arms’ length. 

“What’s up?”  she asked, frowning into his eyes.  “Jonas?”    

“Can I have a word with you in the dining room?  Just a minute, okay?  Uh, guys, we’ll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Jack said.  He glared at the chaise-longue suspiciously.  He sat down in the armchair instead. 

Jonas and Kianna went out of the room, and Sam heard them talking.  She heard Kianna say, _“What?  Now?”_ and then Jonas explaining something at length.  She couldn’t hear his words, but he spoke for some time. 

“She doesn’t sound happy,” Sam said.  

 “She’s living with a Goa’uld.”

“She clearly doesn’t mind living with a Goa’uld!” 

“Yeah, and Jonas Quinn’s sex life is _not_ something I want to think about. _Ever._   It’s either polyamory, or bestiality or some weird BDSM thing.  _Eeuw_.” 

“Prude.” 

“Hey, I’m nearly a pensioner! I’m _allowed_ to be old-fashioned …” 

The door opened again, and Jonas came in.  He and Kianna were holding hands, and he led her in by the hand.  Her face was set.  Her lips were pinned in a straight line.  Jonas closed the door behind her. 

“Ah hell,” Jack said, when he saw Kianna’s face.  “Look, forget about it.” 

“No,” Kianna said.  “No, you _wanted_ to see this.” 

“If you don’t want to, just leave it.”  Jack shook his head.  “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”    

“It’s fine,” Kianna said.  “I’ll do it, if Zindair wants to.  I don’t mind.  It’s fine.” 

“Sit here,” Jonas said, and led her forward by the hand.  He led her over to the chaise-longue, and she sat down.  She smoothed her skirt down her lap with one hand. 

“This is more kinky than I’m used to,” she said. 

“You’re not used to it?” Sam asked. 

“I’m not used to being _watched,”_ Kianna said.  “Usually the three of us do this in the bedroom.  In private.” 

“Are you okay?” Jonas asked. 

She nodded.  “I can do this,” she said.  “Zindair can take me.” 

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Jonas said quietly.  He knelt down in front of his wife, looking into her eyes.  “I think Kestiar is going to shift out of Kirkly soon.  We can wait for them?” 

“No, I think _that_ might be worse,” Kianna said.  She patted Jonas’s hand.  “I’m fine, Jonas!  Really, I’m fine!” 

Her eyes went to Jack, and then to Sam.  “As long as you know, this is a _private_ thing.  Okay?  I’m not ashamed, but this is something we do that’s private.” 

“Uhhh,” Jack said.  He was starting to look very uncomfortable.  “Right.”

“You okay?”  Jonas asked. 

“Yes, I’m okay,” she said.  She turned, lying back against the head of the chaise-longue.  “Let’s do this,” she murmured. 

Jonas perched on the middle of the chaise-longue next to her.  He put his hands gently around her face, and kissed her. 

They were kissing.  Soft kisses, gentle, deep into each other’s mouths.  Kianna’s hands found Jonas’s neck, stroking his hair.  He leaned down into her body on the chaise-longue, until his weight was almost on top of her.   It was the affectionate intimacy of a husband and wife, and Sam had the feeling that she was watching something not meant for her to see. 

Sam looked away.  She looked at Jack instead. 

He was standing watching Jonas and Kianna, with a slightly stunned expression on his face. 

She knew that dazed frown.  She knew his sexual tastes.  He _liked_ to watch, but now he looked as if he wished he did not.  He was frowning, midway between arousal and disgust, fascinated but also horrified. 

She could hear the soft liquid sounds of kisses.  She wondered if she should leave but then it was too late.  She heard Kianna gasp, and then Jack jerked back in disgust.  

She turned in time to see Jonas roll backward off the chaise-longue onto the floor.  There was a smear of blood on his chin, and his eyes were dilated. 

For a second, Kianna was rigid on the chaise-longue.  She didn’t move – and then she arched her back sharply up.  Her eyes flew open, and they glowed fiercely. 

She sat up, and this time Zindair spoke with the cold metallic snarl of an angry Goa’uld. 

“There!” she said.  “Are you satisfied?”

Jack leaped for the door.  He bolted. 

“Jack!” Sam shouted after him.  She got up and went after him, following the sound of angry footsteps up the stairs.  She caught up with him in their bedroom. 

“Jack?” 

“Gaa- _aaaah!”_ he bellowed.  He launched a kick at the linen chest, as if he wanted to kill some Langaran furniture.  “This planet!” 

She closed the door behind her, giving them a bit of privacy, and also giving Kianna a chance to recover her dignity. 

“They did what you asked them for,” Sam asked. 

 _“Gaaaah!”_ Another kick at the linen chest.  The wood made a satisfying thud.  “We should just chuck a Mark 9 nuke through the Stargate, and be done with them!  We’d be saving our grandkids a whole heap of trouble!” 

Sam sat down on the bed, and watched her lover ricochet around the room.  Marching around and yelling was Jack’s way of coming to terms with something he didn’t like.  She had learned to ignore yelling.  When Jack O’Neill went _silent_ was when she needed to worry. 

“We can’t nuke a planet just because they might be a problem.” 

“I know that, Sam!”

“The Tok’Ra aren’t a problem.”  

“The Tok’Ra are a bunch of arrogant pretentious pricks!”

“Do you think the Langarans can really control them?” Sam asked, watching him. 

“Maybe.  But it’s true!  The Goa’uld really _can’t_ lie to their hosts.  Which means Zindair is telling the truth!”

“I know.” 

“God, I _wish_ I didn’t believe them!”

“It’s going to make the Tok’Ra and the Jaffa very unhappy when they find out,” Sam said.

“Yeah, tell me about it!  Can you imagine the look on Teal’c’s face when he finds out where all the Goa'uld are?   _That’s_ why Virago and Jonas asked us here, you realize that?  They think we can wheedle the Jaffa for them.”

“Now we know exactly why Langara went so quiet for so long,” Sam said.  “They knew we wouldn’t be happy about what they were doing here.” 

“Happy?  _Happy_ about the Goa’uld popping up again?  We should just chuck a Mark 9 through the Stargate, and be done with them!  We’d be saving our grandkids a whole heap of trouble!” 

He had now argued himself right around in a circle, Sam realized. She guessed he was beginning to wind down.

There was a knock at the door.  “Jack?  Sam?  Can I come in?” 

Jack threw up both hands. 

“Come in!” Sam called. 

Jonas opened the door, and came in.  His face was pale, and he looked sweaty. 

“Are you all right?”  Sam asked.  

“Shifting is tough.” 

“Does it hurt?”

“Every time,” Jonas said. 

“Sit down before you fall over,” Sam said. 

Jonas sat down on the linen chest at the foot of the bed.  His face was pale, but his jaw was set.  He kneaded his fists, looked up at Jack, and met his eyes. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.  “In private.”

“Shoot,” Jack said. 

“I was taken by force,” Jonas said.  “Zindair took me for the first time in the Deep Underground Excavation Vehicle.”    

“We know.” 

“And it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through in my life.  And I was _lucky!_  I had Kianna holding me at night, I had Zindair who loved me, I was in my own home, with my own friends, and I knew exactly what was going on, and exactly where I was. I knew I was safe the whole time - and it was still one of the hardest things I've ever gone through! I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be taken by a symbiote who _doesn’t_  care about you, and rips you away from everything you've ever known."  

“That’s what the Goa’uld _do.”_  

“No,” Jonas declared.  “That’s what the Second Estate _did._   And I’m not going to rest, I’m not going to stop, I’m not going to _listen, or negotiate, or reason_ until every single host of the Second Estate has been found, and freed.  Nobody deserves to suffer that way.”

He knotted his fists so hard that the muscles of his arms bunched.

“I believe you,” Sam said.    

“You don’t have to believe me,” Jonas said.  He opened his fists, palms up toward her.  “It’s a vow, not a promise.” 

“I believe you anyway,” Sam said. 

“And Jack?” Jonas said.  “Are you going back through the Stargate?  Cutting off diplomatic ties?  Because I understand if you do.  I know exactly what you’ve been through, fighting the Second Estate all these years.” 

Sam looked at Jack. 

Jack looked at Jonas.  The lines of his face worked. 

“Aah, hell,” he said.  “All wars end.  We’ll stay and see this through.” 

 

 

/p

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for plot twists! 
> 
> Ten points to Gryffindor if you can guess Zindair's original Goa'uld name! Hint: Roman, not Egyptian.


	6. The Dance

That night, Jack allowed himself to be dragged to a formal dinner. 

The Shipper’s Guild Annual Dinner took place in a large dining hall with a dance floor and an orchestra.  There were speeches, of course, as Langaran shippers spent time congratulating each other on how wonderful and how profitable the Union was going to be.  Jack himself had been persuaded to say a few words, and managed to wurble through a few platitudes about reconciliation and reconstruction without totally embarrassing himself.  Dirk Virago made another speech, and then the waiters moved between the tables, serving dinner, as the orchestra struck up. 

And now, people around the hall were getting up.  They were starting to dance. 

Jack, Sam, Kianna and Jonas had shared a table during dinner. 

Jack nursed a glass of wine, as their dinner plates were cleared away.  He scanned the dancers.  He hadn’t come here for just another formal dinner.  He had come here because he’d been told there were more Goa’uld here tonight.  But so far, apart from Kianna, he hadn’t seen any.  The Fourth Estate were _here_ tonight, Jonas said … but _who?  Where?_

Virago was there, working the other side of the hall.  He was moving from one group of people to the next, with a practiced smile, and a practiced handshake.  Smoothing, reconciling, demonstrating.  Virago was papering over the cracks in his political experiment, one handshake at a time, pinning it all together, holding a whole planet together with the power of persuasion and the magic of optimism. 

Virago made it look effortless, but Jack had spent enough time in Washington to know how much practice it _really_ took. Virago, he thought to himself, was probably one of the most dangerous men he had ever met.  Any man who could persuade 900 million Langarans to overcome their differences could overcome _anything._  

“Jack?”  Sam reached across the table, and pressed her fingers against his sleeve.  “How about a dance?” 

“Dance?” he said, blankly. 

“Yeah, you know.  Moving your feet around to the music?”  She bobbed her head from side to side, with a grin.

“You’ve seen me dance,” he snapped.  “Why would you _do_ that to yourself?” 

He saw his harsh tone hit her.  She pursed her lips, and looked away from him.  Not in a shy smile, but in a look of embarrassment. 

He opened his mouth to apologise, but he was too late. 

 _“I’ll_ dance with you!” Jonas blurted with a sunny smile. He'd had a touch too much Tiranian wine, and it showed.   

“At least _someone_ wants to dance with me!” Sam said, with a pretence at cheer. 

She put her hand into Jonas’s, and the Langaran drew her to her feet.  He led her out among the dancers.  In a few beats of music, they had whirled away between the dancers. 

“Crap,” Jack muttered. 

He’d gone and done the same stupid thing all over again!  He had pushed her away, and now she was with someone else, and he was sitting here alone like a brainless turnip.  It was the same old story all over again.  He hadn’t changed.  He was still an idiot! 

“Don't look so sad! You can dance with me, instead?” Kianna said.  “And then we can swop partners for the next dance.” 

“Surely you can dance by yourself?” he asked, sourly.  “Since there’s _two_ of you.” 

“That would look a bit strange, wouldn't it?”  She held out her hand.  "Let's dance?"

“I’m not dancing with a Goa’uld.”   

Kianna pulled her hand back, hurt.

With barely a blink, Zindair was back. 

The Goa’uld’s eyes glowed with rage.  “I’m not letting you be _rude_ to my host!” she hissed at him, with real anger.  She pushed herself up off the table, and swept off without a backward glance. 

He stared after her with his mouth open, shocked at being slapped down so sharply, and by a Goa’uld of all people.  He had insulted plenty of Goa'uld, but he'd never had one take offence at an insult to its host before! That was new. The Planet of the Jerks was full of surprises.

And now, thanks to his own mouth, he was sitting alone at the table, facing the floral centrepiece as if he was talking to it.  He turned his chair around to watch the dance-floor, just to make himself look less awkwardly _abandoned,_ and nursed his wine-glass sullenly. 

A moment later, Sam and Jonas danced past his table again.  The Kelownan’s hand was on her hip, that bastard.  Jonas murmured something in her ear. Sam laughed. Jack knotted his fist around his wine glass.

God, she was _hot._   Service Dress highlighted her golden hair, and the perfect curve of her sweet legs.  She still took his breath away, just as she had all those years ago in the briefing room of the SGC.  And she was _his._   She wanted to be with _him._   And he wanted to be with her. 

That was it, he decided.  As soon as he had the chance, he was going to grab her away from stupid smug smiley Jonas.  If Sam wanted to dance, Jack was going to dance with her himself until his knee fell off. 

Glaring at Sam and Jonas was interrupted by someone in a dark green uniform.  It was Captain Fortune.  He sat down in Kianna’s chair

“General O’Neill,” Fortune said. 

“Captain.” 

“May I sit?” 

“You’re already sitting.” 

“Should I go?”

“Naah, just sit.  I think I just drove away the only person still talking to me tonight. You may as well sit down and be grumpy with me.”    

Fortune picked up Kianna’s glass of wine, and finished it.  There was barely any sign of his broken nose by now.  His bridge was straight.  The purple bruises had almost faded. 

“Listen,” Jack said, staring at Fortune’s nose.  “I reckon I owe you an apology.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Fortune said.  “Excelior healed it.” 

“Benefits of being a host?” 

“That, and _also_ ... Virago explained to us both that it won’t look good if people know that a senior officer of the US Air Force punched a senior officer of the Langaran Navy in the face.”

“Ah.  I get it.”

“Diplomacy.” 

“Diplomacy,” Jack agreed.  “But, um, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.  I didn’t know how things were.” 

“Magister Quinn explained about the Fourth Estate?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And you’re okay with it?”

“No.  But I’m getting my head around it.” 

“You know, you’re the first,” Fortune said. 

“First what?”

“You're the first people we’re showing the Fourth Estate,” Fortune said.   “You’re more important to Langara than you know. You are literally the first diplomatic contact the Fourth Estate has ever had.”

“Yeah, I _figured_ that was the reason we’ve had the full undivided attention of the Magister of Kelowna all week.”    

The waiter came by, and filled Fortune’s glass.  Sam and Jonas danced past his table again. 

To hide his jealousy, he picked up the decorative place-card that had his name on it, and started dipping it into the flame of the candle.  He turned the card carefully, as if he was doing handicrafts, singeing each corner carefully so they were all equally brown.   

“All right, this is driving me crazy,” he admitted, without looking away from the flame.  “Tell me something.”

“Just between two senior officers?” 

 “How do you know who’s a Goa’uld, and who isn’t?” 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Fortune said.  “You have to look for coterie pins.” 

“Coterie pins?”  Now, where had Jack heard _that_ phrase before? 

“This is a coterie pin.”  Fortune put his finger and thumb around the small bright stud on his uniform collar.  It was a little bead of red-and-gold. 

“I thought that was part of your uniform.”

“It’s a coterie pin.  If it’s coloured, like this one, it means that you’re carrying.  I'm carrying Excelior right now.  If it’s a plain pearl, it means you’re in a coterie, but not carrying.  You’ll see others.” 

Jack tried to remember if Jonas or Kianna had been wearing a coterie pin.  And then remembered the silver-and-blue stud that Jonas wore on his collar on the train.  Kianna was wearing the same stud tonight, on the front of her gown.  Jack had assumed it was a private _married-couple-thing,_ and had avoided asking about it. 

“You don’t mind people knowing?”  he asked. 

“I _like_ people to know!” Fortune said.  “Excelior is an wonderful symbiote.” 

“Were you taken by …” Jack thought better of the question.  “Are _you_ okay with it?” 

“I knew what I was getting into,” Fortune said. 

“You were invited?” 

“And some of the systems in the _Hercules_ don’t answer to someone who isn’t Goa’uld.  The ship-buster guns don’t charge up unless they detect the Goa’uld blood-marker.  You have to be either Jaffa or Goa’uld to get the best use out of a ha’tak.  The old System Lords were paranoid as all hell.” 

The System Lords’ paranoia hadn’t helped them in the end, Jack thought.  He singed a neat hole in the centre of the place-card, right over the words Brig. Gen.  

“How many of you are there?”  he asked. 

“Nearly four thousand Goa’uld.  And around sixty thousand coterie hosts."

"More hosts than symbiotes."

"That was how we fought back against the Ori,  you know," Fortune said, thoughtfully.  "They knew there were Goa'uld here, but they were never able to catch us.  During the occupation, symbiotes went in and out of hosts one after the other, quick-quick-quick.  Some symbiotes had _hundreds_ of hosts.  The Priors never did cotton on to the coteries!"

 Fortune referred to the Goa'uld as 'us,' Jack noticed.  _The Fourth Estate is part of the Union,_ Virago had said.    

“Why didn’t they just bomb the planet?”

 “That, we'll never know,” Fortune said.  His eyes went unfocused, and he blinked.  “Excelior says they wanted our species for themselves.” 

“They wanted the hok’taur,” Jack guessed.  Being a hok'taur had to feel like being a rhino, he thought.

"But here comes Magister Quinn!"  Fortune looked up.  "There's not much he doesn't know about the Goa'uld, is there?  Zindair is by far the oldest of the Fourth Estate.  Ask him!”

Jack looked up.  The music had ended, and the dance had finished.  Jonas and Sam were coming back to their table.  In his discussion about the Fourth Estate he had actually managed to forget about Sam and Jonas and his promise to grab her away from the Langaran!

He stood up so quickly he almost tripped over the legs of his chair. “Sam!” 

“Jack.”  She looked happy and beautiful. 

“Will you dance with me?” he said quickly, before she could sit down. 

She looked at him, sharp blue eyes seeing directly into his heart. “Sure thing,” she said. 

He took her hand, her warm hand, and steered her back out onto the dance-floor.  She turned to face him, and her hand went up to his shoulder.  His hand found the familiar curve of her hip, under the starch of her uniform.  He took the first step, and she stepped with him. 

He did know how to dance.  He had taken lessons at the Air Force Academy, part of becoming ‘an officer and a gentleman,’ although that had been decades ago. He knew how to dance, and he found that with a woman like Sam the steps came back to his muscles quickly. 

The Kelownan music was unfamiliar, but without discussion they settled into a waltz.  It was a different dance to what the Langarans were dancing, but they were doing the _same_ wrong dance, so it didn’t matter.  His knee was stiff, but at a slow waltz it didn’t matter. 

She looked up into his face, letting him steer them both around the other dancers.  He could see the mascara on her huge eyes, her long lashes, the perfect curve of her lips. 

“Sorry for being a jerk,” he said, quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.  “I don’t want to see you dancing with Jonas, that’s all.”

“You’re jealous,” she grinned. 

“Of course I’m jealous!  He’s got his _own_ wife to dance with!  Hell, he’s got _two_ wives!  Let him go dance with _them!”_

Sam let Jack steer her through the dance, looking up into his eyes. 

He wasn’t taking his eyes off her; he was leading her through the dance with his peripheral vision alone.  She could see the desire in those brown eyes, under those low brows.  She could feel the male strength of his fingers against her back, feel the muscle of his shoulder.  

In the next few steps, he shifted his hand to the small of her back, snuggling her closer to his body.  He flowed to the music, and she knew that their waltz  was only the prelude to another, sweeter dance they would do together, just the two of them, later tonight.  She flowed with him, in tune with him, answering his invitation with her own.  She could dance with this man forever, she thought. 

“We could do this forever,” she said, looking up into his eyes. 

She felt his fingers tighten on hers, felt his step hitch. 

 “We can’t,” he said.  For the first time in the dance, his eyes shifted up.  He looked over her shoulder. 

“Jack,” she said, and his eyes came back down to meet hers. 

“Jack, I know there’s a ring.” 

“Uh,” he temporised.  “A ring?” 

A slight smile, the hint of an eye-roll, and she shook her head.  “I know there’s a ring!  The jeweller said so.” 

“There isn’t a ring,” he said. 

“What?” 

“I put it back.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s a bad idea.  This whole thing, Sam.  It’s a bad idea.” 

She pulled herself away from him.  Stepped out of the dance, stepped out of his reach. 

“Jack!”   

“Wait.  I’m an idiot.  That came out all wrong!”

He didn’t let her go.  He followed her with his hands, stepping after her as if they were still dancing.  

“Jack, don’t!  If you don’t love me any more, just say so, and let me go!”

“I do love you!” he said, and his eyes were shocked. 

"But you want to break off the engagement?" 

“That’s not the reason!” he said.  "I do love you!"  

She pulled away, stepping back from him.  She took her hands back to herself.  If he was going to break her heart, she didn’t want to be touching him when he did it.  She steeled herself. 

“But I know something is wrong,” she said. “I can see it in your face – I can hear it.  I know you’re keeping something from me.  And I can’t live in this limbo, this _not-knowing!_ Jack, if you don't love me any more, if you want to go back to Sara, just say so."

The look on his face was a mixture of horror and embarrassment. 

“God, Carter!  No!  That’s so far from the … !  That’s not what I …!  No, I can’t talk about this here!  Let’s go somewhere else!” 

He grabbed her hand, and towed her off the dance floor by the hand, butting between the dancers. 

She followed his hand.  She let him lead her by the hand between the waltzers, past the bowl of punch and a group of half-drunk Naval officers, out through the silken doors, and onto the balcony. 

For a moment, she was a teenage girl at the Prom again, and the most exciting boy at school was leading her off the dance-floor, to tell her he wanted to go steady. 

But she was not a teenaged girl any more.  She was a grown woman, and the most exciting boy was a grey-haired General, and she was going to get her heart broken.  This was real, and it was terrifying.  Those were not butterflies in her stomach, but the  fear of a grown woman whose marriage was falling apart before it had even begun.   

It was quiet and dark out here.  They were alone. 

“Something’s wrong, Jack,” she said.  “Have you fallen out of love with me?” 

“That’s not it!” he said.

"But you still want to break off the engagement?  You know what we were going to do, when you retired." 

Jack turned to face her.  His hands settled around her waist.  “I don't want to break off the engagement,” he said.    

“But?” 

“But it’s a mistake.  It’s a mistake, Sam, can't you see that?” 

“Because you’re still in love with Sara.” 

“No!  I mean, yes!  But …”

She pulled away from him.  She tried to step back out of his hands, but he stepped forward, going with her.  He closed his hands around hers. 

“No, no, don’t go!  Listen!” 

“I _really_ don’t want to hear about how _Sara_ was the love of your life!”

“Please listen!”  he said, desperately. 

“You’re still in love with Sara!” 

“I will always be in love with Sara!  But this isn’t about Sara!  This is about me!”

She felt the tears spring up in her eyes.  “Don’t tell me that!”  She stepped away.  This time he let her go. 

“For God's sake, Sam!  I’m not the kind of guy who can just stop loving someone!  Look at how long I tried to stop loving you!  And look how well _that_ turned out!”

She couldn’t help herself, she snorted.  She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t keep down the snort.  They had both tried so hard to _not_ love each other, for so long. 

“I loved Sara,” he said.  “I did love her.  I loved her _every inch_ as much as I love you.  But –  it _wasn’t enough."_

“She left you.” 

“No, you don't understand.  I _pushed her away,”_ he said.  “I screwed it all up.  I screwed everything up!”

“Charlie wasn’t your fault.” 

“I’m not talking about Charlie.  I’m talking about _me._   I was a crap husband."

“Jack…” she said, wanting to interrupt him from his self-blame, but then couldn’t think of a single sensible thing to say.

“When Sara needed me, I wasn’t there for her.  When she needed me the most, when everything fell apart, I left her alone to deal with it, all by herself.  I pushed the love of my life away when she needed me most, as if she was a stranger.  I screwed up my marriage.  _Me._   I was a crap husband.” 

He stepped forward, and this time she let him put his hands around her waist.  He was shaking as if he’d drunk too much caffeine.  He was wired with adrenalin. 

“And now I’ve got a second chance I don’t deserve. I’ve got you, and now I’m scared that I’m going to screw up _this_ marriage too.  I was a crap husband once.  I don't know how not to be crap husband a second time.”

“Jack!” she said. 

He shifted his hands, cupping her face gently.  His palms were warm around her cheeks.  

“I’m scared that if I marry you, I’m going to hurt you.”

“Is that why you’re having cold feet?”  she asked. 

“I don’t ever want to make you cry, Sam.  It’s a risk I can’t take.”

“Now _you_ listen!”  she said, fiercely.  She reached up and cupped his face too.  

He was listening. 

“ _All_ marriages are a risk!  For better or for worse!  That’s what it says in the vow!  For better or for worse is always going to be a risk, and I’m ready for  that risk!”  

“I’m still the guy I was then.  I don’t know if I can change, Sam.” 

“Jack,” she said.  “Listen to me.  You’re one of the best men I’ve ever met.   You’re smart, and funny.  You fly like an angel, you fight like a devil, and you _still_ manage to crack a joke while you’re doing it!  You’re noble, and brave, and stubborn, and you _care_ about things, more than any man I’ve ever met!  And to me you are 100% all-male instant pantry-drop!  I _want_ to marry you.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes.  The wedding, the honeymoon, the babies, everything.  For better or for worse.” 

“It’s a risk.  I could still screw it all up.” 

“It’s a risk I’m ready to take.  Every time we step through the Stargate we take a risk!  Jack, I _want_ to marry you.” 

“Really?”

“Yes!” Sam said.  “Really!  _You’re_ the love of _my_ life, Jack O’Neill!  And if you're going to be a crap husband, you'll be my crap husband.  And trust me,  if you start being a crap husband, _I'll_ knock some sense into you.  I'll come after you, no matter where you go.” 

“Should I propose?” he said.   

“I think you just did.” 

“No.  I should propose.  I’m going to do this properly.  Not under a space-blanket on the back of a truck!”

He stepped back, a quarter-step away from her. 

A moment later, he was kneeling down, still holding her hands.  Down on one knee, and he looked up at her.  Her heart was galloping in her chest as if it was going to burst. 

“Samantha Carter,” he said.  “Will you marry me?”

She looked down at him.  In the half-dark, his uniform looked black.  His face was lit from one side by the lights of the ballroom.  She thought she would remember this second for the rest of her life.  This was not her first proposal, but her galloping heart told her this was the only one that mattered. 

“Yes,” she said.  “Yes!  Yes, I want to marry you!”

He pushed himself up to his feet. 

A second later he grabbed her to him so hard he almost picked her up, and planted his mouth on hers.  She tasted his mouth, felt his breath, felt his arms shaking around her.  She wrapped her hands around his hair, and pulled him down into herself with all her strength.  And then they were kissing with desperate passion, as if this was the first time, as if there was nothing in the world but each other. 

“Love you,” he gasped into her mouth when they came up for air. 

There was nothing in the world then, but the taste of each other, and the heat of their tongues, and the delicious shock of teeth.  

They were interrupted by someone coming out onto the balcony.  Whoever it was grunted with surprise.  Sam jumped back into the real world. 

Jack looked up. 

“Captain Fortune.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t know you were, uh, _busy …”_

“We’re fine,” Sam said, turning around to face Fortune.  She touched her hair, wondering if she looked as rough as she felt. 

“I thought you should know.  Magister Quinn just had a seizure.”

“Is he okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am, but he took a nose-dive into the punch-bowl.  They’re trying to pump him dry right now.  The Magister’s always falling into things, or off things, or _through_ things…” 

Sam heard Jack mutter something about Jonas’s _impeccable timing._  

“Anyway, now he’s talking about some sort of threat to Tirania from space.”

“From space?”

“Magister Quinn is not often wrong,” Fortune said.  “Minister Virago thought you should know.” 

Fortune went back through the doors again. 

“Come on,” Jack said. 

They went hand-in-hand back through the doors, into the brightly lit ballroom.  Holding hands wasn’t much of a contact, compared with all the wonderful parts of Jack she _wanted_ to touch, but it was all she had right now.  And by the way his fingers twined with hers, the arousal within her had an echo inside him, too. 

 _My fiancee,_ she told herself.  _He's my fiancee! And going to be my husband!_

This was not her first proposal - but the singing happiness in her heart told her again that this was the only one that had ever mattered.  Whatever doubts Jack had, they would work through them all together. 

The dining hall looked the same as when they had left.  The orchestra was still playing.  The dancers were still turning on the floor, but over by the front door, a knot of men were standing in a block, deep in conversation. 

Sam spotted Virago and Jonas, almost nose-to-nose, and Kianna and General Baing listening closely.  They walked up to join the group.  Kianna and Zindair saw them approach. 

“General O’Neill,” Zindair said.  She opened the circle for them to join the discussion.

Jonas smelled very strongly of wine.  “I spilled some wine – uh, a lot of wine, actually…” 

 “Are you really okay?” Kianna asked Jonas. 

“I’ll be fine, love,” Jonas said.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.   Kianna, or Zindair, or both, wrapped an arm around him and snuggled in against his side.  “I’ll be fine, I’m not even bruised.” 

“What did you see?” Jack asked. 

“Tiran City, through the sights of the main armament of a ha’tak.  Targeting sights.  A big ship-buster gun.”

“Are you _sure_ it was Tiran City?”  Baing asked. 

“I know Tiran City.  All those onion-domes?  The Seven Steps, the Moon Pine Hill? … It was unmistakeable.”

“It might not happen for years,” Jack said.  “Your own words, Jonas?” 

“I don’t know when it’ll happen,” Jonas said.  “But I have the feeling it’s coming _soon._ ”

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” 

“I’ve learned to trust Jonas’s visions,” Dirk Virago said. 

 “If anyone opens fire from space on Tiran City, Tirania will assume it was us,” General Baing said to Virago.  “And after the Great Bomb of Doveport …”

“All the extremists and nationalists on both sides will immediately scream _I told you so,”_ Zindair said.  “It’ll be chaos!  It could take months to get the peace process back on track!” 

“The Union will die instantly,” Virago said. “Along with three million Tiranian civilians!  I’ll go straight back to the Rotunda.  I have a direct line on the wire to the Senate of Tirania.  I’ll wire them, and warn them to have their aerial defences on full alert.” 

“I’ll ring back up to the _Hercules,”_ Fortune said.  “By your leave, First Minister?” 

“Go,” Virago said to him, and Fortune left. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Sam asked. 

"It might not come to anything," Virago said.  "I might call on you tomorrow, but not tonight.” 

“If we can have Calro, we’ll go back to Tickberry Terrace, keep out of your hair.”

“Calro should be outside,” Jonas said.  “He can take you straight back.” 

They left the group, walking around the outskirts of the dancers. 

“This party is going to break up,” Jack said.  “Once Virago leaves, everyone else will too.  Half these people are only here to put a word in the First Minister’s ear.”

He had spent enough time in Washington to observe the life cycle of high-society parties. 

“I don’t want to hang around with shipping agents,” Sam said, “when I could be in bed, making love to my fiancee!”

Her lips felt bruised from the scrape of Jack’s five-o’clock shadow.  She could still taste him.  She wanted more, she wanted all of him.  

“Fiancee!” Jack echoed, his face lighting up, as if the word had never crossed his mind before.  “Yeah.  Let’s get out of here.” 

“Yeah.  Come on.” 

They found Calro outside, already jogging with his car keys in his hand.   Someone must have warned him that his employer was leaving.  They got into the back seat, as he turned the engine over.  The car pulled out into the street, leaving the glittering cars of the parking lot behind.

As soon as the back seat was dark, Jack slid his arm around her shoulders.  Sam turned to face him.  Her hand found his chest, and then his belt.  She heard his breath hitch. 

“You’re going to make me come…” 

“I don’t care,” she whispered.  “I’m going to make you come, and come, and come.  For as long as we both shall live.” 

“Calro can see us…” 

“I don’t care,” she whispered into his ear. “I bet he’s seen worse in the back of this car…!”   

She hooked her leg over his knee. They leaned into each other, kissing. 

She didn’t come up for air until after the car was turning into Tickberry Terrace,  and by then she was burning.  Her groin was a lake of fire.  Her skin felt as if electricity was running over it. 

“I love you,” he growled into her ear.  “No matter what happens!  Don’t ever forget that I love you!  I love you, and I’m going to marry you.  Only you, for ever, and ever…” 

The car turned, and stopped.  Sam looked up.  The car was pulling up in front of Tickberry Terrace.  Jack popped the door, and got out of the car, and then turned to reach back into the car for Sam’s hand.  She looked up into the wicked grin of a man who knew he was getting mind-blowing sex in a few minutes.  She felt the same horny grin over her own face... 

And then it all went wrong. 

Tyres squealed.  Doors banged.  Lights flashed.  Two black vans screamed to a halt. 

“What the hell?” Jack spun around but men were jumping out.

“Hands up!  You’re under arrest!  By order of the BSS!” 

“Like hell!” Jack jumped on the first man to reach him.  The man grappled with him wildly, trying to subdue him, and then the second man stepped up behind him with a Zat.  _Zap!_   Blue sparks!  

“Jack!” Sam yelled.  She was still half-in the car, and she jumped to Jack’s defence.  But he was already falling.  

Calro was jumping out of the driver’s door, bellowing.  He reached out for the nearest man’s face, fingers spread wide. 

 _“The body-guard is a telepath!”_   someone screamed.  _“Don’t let him touch you!”_

Calro was caught squarely in a block of blue sparks.  He dropped instantly. 

Sam leaped for Calro, for the concealed gun she knew the body-guard must have, but there were too many of them around her.  They grabbed her, even as her hands closed on Calro’s jacket.  They lifted her off her feet. 

“Let me go!” 

She fought but their strength was just too much for her.  She thrashed helplessly, struggling and kicking.  “Let me go!” 

The man who’d just shot Jack stepped up to her, and his face was ugly with anger.  He grabbed her roughly by the hair, and hauled her head back. 

“Where’s Magister Quinn?”  he shouted into her face. 

“I don’t know!” she spat back, lying on instinct. 

“He left with you!  Where is he?”   

“I don’t know!” she shouted.  She pulled up her legs and tried to kick him in the groin with both heels.  She failed to connect.  The man flinched away, and then hit her across the face. 

“Where is Magister Quinn?  And the Snake he carries?”

“Go to hell!”  she snarled, as soon as she recovered from the punch to her face. 

This couldn’t be happening.  This _shouldn’t_ be happening!  Jack was behind her and she couldn’t see him.  BSS?  Why were the BSS arresting them?  She tried to twist herself free but the two men holding her tightened their grip. 

The man took another grip on her hair. 

A voice pealed down from upstairs.  “Hey!  What’s going on down there?” 

It sounded like Mrs Mattis, Kianna’s fierce housekeeper. 

Sam opened her mouth, and shouted as hard as she could.  “Help!  We’re being kidnapped!  Call the police!” 

“Shut up!” the man wrenched her head back by her hair.  “Shut up!” 

 “Mrs Mattis!  Call the Rotunda!  Warn Jonas!”  and then she saw the Zat turned in her direction.

 Blue sparks zapped in her vision and then everything went black. 

 

 


	7. The Coup

Sam woke up as she was being dragged.  She got her feet under her just in time to be sent staggering forward into an empty space. She fell onto hands and knees, and heard a door slam behind her.  

She dragged herself up and turned.  She was in a small concrete cell, inside a heavy steel door.  She heard the key turn in the lock. “Hey, where am I?”  she yelled.  She banged her palms on the door. 

"You're in the BSS!"one of them yelled. 

"Come back!”  

They ignored her. She heard the sound of their boots clumping away, and the clang of the door next door being opened.  So there were other people here?  Other prisoners?  Was Jack here? 

“Jack!” she shouted.  “Jack! Can you hear me?” 

"Shut up, or I'll come in there and shut you up!"  someone down the corridor bellowed back. 

Sam looked around.  The cell was narrow, with a high ceiling.  She had a steel bench to sit on, and a steel toilet.  There was one light-bulb, too high for her to reach.  Opposite the door was one barred window, high on the wall.  And that was it.  

After a quick experiment she found that she could see through the window, if she stood on the end of the bench and pulled herself up to the bars with her fists.  She hauled herself up, thanking her luck for the physical fitness standards of the SGC. 

Outside it was still night.  She could see a floodlit courtyard, and a high brick wall.

She lay down on the hard bench.  She didn’t sleep. It was too cold to sleep, and the light was never turned off.  They’d taken everything out of her pockets; there was nothing left in the cell to use as a weapon.  She could do nothing but wait. 

After a few hours, her eyes began to burn with exhaustion, and her adrenalin wearing off.  She wrapped her arms around her knees, and waited. 

She was disturbed by the sound of gunshots.

For a moment she wasn’t sure she had really heard them.  Had she fallen asleep without noticing? 

Another rattle of shots. That was volley fire; a row of guns fired at once.  And it came from outside. 

She got up and stood on the bench.  She pulled herself up to the window. 

The light outside was grey now; early morning.  In the courtyard, a file of soldiers were reloading their rifles.  Other soldiers were herding a group of civilians toward the brick wall at bayonet-point.  An officer was barking orders, jerking one arm this way and that, directing them like a conductor.

As she watched, the civilians were shepherded against the wall.  The soldiers lined their rifles at shoulder-height.  The officer dropped his hand, and the rifles fired in a cloud of smoke and shattered brick.  In the cloud of smoke, she saw the civilians crumpling in a heap of dead flesh. 

Sam fell back to the bench.  “They’re shooting civilians!”  

She ricocheted around the cell in a fever, but there was nothing she could do.  She battered her fists against the walls, but she was helpless to do anything for those people. 

She counted the volleys through the morning, although she could not bring herself to look again.  

_Three…_

_Four…_

_Five…_

She was in a BSS cell.  And the BSS was shooting civilians in the courtyard outside.  Had Jonas’s parents spent _their_ last days in a cell like this one? 

But just like Jonas’s parents, there was nothing she could do from in here.  Kelowna had turned into a nightmare all over again.  Just like Jonas’s parents, she could do nothing from this cell but wait for her end.   

She sat cross-legged on the steel bench, shivering, and the fear and horror crawled in her stomach. 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back on Earth ... Someone was dialling into the SGC. 

“Unauthorised off-world activation,” Walter Harriman-Davis announced.  The wormhole billowed out, and then collapsed.  The Iris closed over the wormhole. 

“Who is it?”  Landry arrived in the Control Room, with Daniel Jackson close behind him. 

“I’m getting the IDC of Langara, sir,” Walter said. 

“Sir, we’re receiving a radio transmission,” the second technician said.  “Audio only!”

“Put them on the speakers!” Landry said. 

“Attention, Earth.  This is Kelowna Gate Control!” 

“This is General Landry, SGC!” Landry replied. 

“Please open your Iris!  We need to send travellers through, right now!  It’s an emergency!”  The voice on the radio sounded agitated. 

“What’s going on, Langara?” 

“It's a military coup!”

“You know we can’t interfere in the domestic affairs of your planet!” 

“Sir, these are all civilians!  Their lives are in danger!  Please, open your Iris!”

“Open the Iris!” Landry ordered.  Walter pressed his palm on the plate.  The Iris retracted. 

“Send your people through, Langara, the Iris is open!” 

“Thank you!” 

Seconds later, the first civilians popped through the wormhole.  They tottered down the ramp, looking traumatised.  The next lot arrived right behind them.  In a few seconds later the ramp was full.  Landry saw an old man wobble over, and fall into Sergeant Siler’s arms. 

“I want a medical team to the Gate Room,” Landry ordered. 

By the time Landry reached the Gate Room himself,  more Langarans were arriving through the wormhole.  All civilians, by the look of them, and all of them looked in a state of shock.  They were milling around on the ramp, risking bumping their own people back into the wormhole. 

“Clear those civilians from the ramp!” Landry ordered, pushing the civilians out of the way.  “Clear the ramp, clear the ramp!”

“What’s going on?” Daniel Jackson grabbed a Langaran woman. 

“It’s a coup!” she said.  She clutched at his arm as if he was her saviour.  Her face was white.  “The whole campus is surrounded!” 

More refugees were pouring through.  Sergeant Siler was counting them as they poured through, “Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three, thirty four…” 

The last few Langaran civilians hesitated on the ramp, looking.  They were waiting for someone else to come through after them. 

For a second, the wormhole gleamed, undisturbed.  Then one figure blossomed through. 

He was a young man in a dark green uniform, with two gold rings on the cuffs of his jacket.  He ran down the ramp.  “Close the Iris!  They’re right behind us!”   

As if someone heard him, a bullet ricocheted through the wormhole over his head, making him yelp. 

“Close it!”  Landry barked.  The Iris slammed shut.  The next few bullets could be heard, pinging harmlessly against the Iris. 

“Thanos almighty!” the young man said.  He gripped his knees for support.  “That was close!”  He was the same voice the SGC had just heard on the radio from Kelowna. 

“Who are _you?”_ Landry barked. 

“Uh, sorry, sir.”  He straightened his back.  “Lieutenant Joland Kirkly, sir.  Langaran Space Navy.  Kestiar’s coterie.”

“What’s going on?” 

“It’s a military coup, sir,” Kirkly said.  “General Parkerman is trying to take over the city.”

“If he's trying to take over the city,” Landry said, “isn’t your place _there?”_

“I can't get back to my ship, sir, the Academy of Science is surrounded,” Kirkly said.  “I held them off as long as I could, but then we heard the plotters are rounding up coteries and shooting them.” 

“Coteries?” Daniel said. 

“Yes, sir,” Kirkly said.  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but Earth is the only planet I could think of to bring these people that the BSS can’t follow us.” 

“Sir,” Harriman-Davis said over the Intercom.  “We’re receiving a radio transmission from Langara.” 

“Huh,” Landry said.  He went through the blast doors and back up to the Control Room.  Daniel Jackson followed closely.  After a second of indecision, Kirkly followed them. 

“Attention, Earth!”  It was a male voice, deep and angry.  “This is Kelowna Gate Control!” 

Kirkly hissed.  “That's Parkerman himself!” 

Landry keyed the radio.  “This is General Landry of the SGC.” 

“Is your Iris open?  You have received fugitives from Langaran justice.  We would like to retrieve them.” 

“To _whom_ am I addressing myself?” Landry asked. 

“I am General Parkerman, of the People’s Republic of Kelowna.  And the people who have come to you are traitors to their country!”

“We’re not interested in the domestic affairs of your planet,” Landry said. 

Next to him, Lieutenant Kirkly squawked in horror.  He shut up when Daniel squeezed his arm tightly, and shook his head – _No._    

“Excellent!  I'll send my troops through your Gate to retrieve them and return them for justice!"

“Not so fast!” Landry said.  “Our Iris is closed!  And it’s _staying_ closed, until I receive orders from General O’Neill!”

“You do not know who those people are, General!  You and I are on the same side!” 

“I want to hear _that_ from General O’Neill.  Until then, these people are under Earth’s protection!” 

“Very well,” Parkerman snapped.  “Kelowna has no choice but to sever all ties with Earth!  You will wish you had chosen a different answer!” 

A moment later, the wormhole disengaged. 

“Was he threatening me?” Landry growled.  “What’s the point of threatening me through a wormhole?  He’s a general, _I’m_ a general, does he think I’ll be impressed?” 

Kirkly found a chair, and sagged into it with a sigh. 

“Now you!” Landry turned on him.  “You better have a good story to tell, kid!”

“It’s a military coup,” Kirkly explained. 

“Yeah, we got that part!  Who, and when, and how?” 

“The Bureau of State Security, and parts of the Army,” Kirkly said.  “I’ve been holding them off the Academy of Sciences all night.  I think they're trying to round up the entire government, but I don’t think they’ve succeeded yet.”

“We have some people on Langara,” Landry said.  “General O’Neill and Colonel Carter.” 

“I know, I met them both,” Kirkly said.  “Nobody knows where they are.  I don’t even know where the rest of my coterie are.” 

“There’s nothing you can do about it right now,” Landry said. 

Below, a scream pierced the room.  Someone in the Gate Room bellowed, _“Hold it right there!”_

“What the hell?” Landry swung on the window. 

Below, the gun crews were closing up on the .50 cal, swinging their barrels to face a cluster of the refugees.  The Langaran civilians were fleeting for cover. The medical teams were pulling back, fast.   Dr Lam was backing away, both palms spread as if to say _Please don’t shoot my Corpsmen,_ but she was backing away from the civilians as if _they_ were the threat.  “Back up!” the guard sergeant shouted, his P90 lined on the refugees.  "Back up!" 

“No!” Kirkly yelled.  “General, tell them to stand down!” 

“What’s going on down there?”  Landry bellowed through the Intercom.

“Sir!”  Siler shouted, pointing at the old man who had fallen into his arms.  “That man is a Goa’uld!” 

 _“All_ of them are Goa’uld!” Kirkly shouted frantically. 

 _“What?”_ Landry bellowed at him. 

“I _had_ to bring them here!” Kirkly shouted.  “Parkerman is shooting them!  This was the only planet I could bring them!”   

“You brought Goa’uld _here?”_ Landry growled.  He got into Kirkly’s face, his beetle-brows thunderous.  "You brought Goa'uld into _my base?"_

“I can explain, sir!” Kirkly said. 

“Oh, you’d _better_ explain, kid!” Landry growled.  “Or I’ll push you right back where you came from!” 

* * *

 

Jack was cold, and hungry, and _angry._

Whoever had arrested him last night had entertained themselves while he was out by kicking him.  Inhaling too sharply hurt.  He didn’t have any broken ribs, but he sure wanted to find them and return the compliment.  

He was also bored.  People were coming and going constantly, and he could hear doors slamming, and voices, but they ignored Jack, and he didn't like being ignored.  He’d tried yelling at them, but they ignored him.  They had shoved a bowl of lucerne through the grate in his door, but ignored his complaints that he couldn’t eat grass.  He threw the lucerne onto the floor, trying to provoke a response, but they ignored that too. He fell asleep eventually out of sheer boredom. 

When he awoke again, the noise had stopped.  The whole prison was quiet as a tomb.  The building was empty.  

Dinner did not come. 

It dawned on him that he had been forgotten.  He was locked in an empty prison.

He felt a moment of blind panic that he would die here, trapped, and that in a year or two some urban explorer would find his corpse.  For a moment he had to lean against the wall and catch his breath. 

No.  This was a coup.   Prisons were always key points in coups, weren't they?  Someone knew he was here.  One way or another, someone would find him.  Someone would come looking, eventually.  Eventually. 

“Y’know,” he said, addressing the steel toilet-bowl.  “If an Ascended Being was about to pop up, now would be a _really_ good time.” 

He waited.  Nothing happened. 

“I kinda want to know where Sam is right now.” 

Silence. 

“I can't do anything with the information, you know.  You wouldn’t be breaking any rules.   It would just be nice to know where Sam is.”

Nothing happened.  He was definitely talking to himself, he thought, which meant he might as well get his money’s worth.  It wasn’t as if anyone was here to hear him.  He had the whole prison to himself, like Rudolph Hess.  

“Why the hell did I come back here?” he complained.  “I could have proposed to Sam on a _thousand_ planets, but _no-o,_ Genius Jonathan Jay had to choose _this_ one.  One minute you’re at a nice dinner-dance, and the next minute, _bam!_   you’re in a cell!” 

The steel toilet said nothing. 

“I reckon this place is _welcome_ to the Goa’uld.  They _deserve_ each other.  _Everyone_ on this planet is an asshole.  Would I give the Goa’uld to the Madronans?  No.  I like the Madronans!  But the Langarans?  Hell yeah, I'll give them all the Goa'uld they want!  Planet of the Jerks, now with added Jerks!”

He sat down on the bench with his arms around his knees.  

“I wish I knew where Sam was," he said to the toilet.  "We're getting married as soon as we get home.  If we get home …”   

The hours passed, dragging.  The sun turned through the day.  The shadow marched down the wall opposite him.

It was nearly dark when finally, he heard voices.

For a second, he panicked that they had passed him, that they were going away.  He grabbed the lucerne bowl and banged it on the door, the way he'd learned in the Iraqi prison.  _“I’m here!  I’m here!”_ he bellowed. 

He heard muffled voices, and the clanging of the bolts being opened.  The key turning in the lock, and the door opened.

Jack popped out of the cell so fast he nearly ran into Jonas Quinn's arms.  Jonas grabbed him by the shoulders.  “Jack!  There you are!” 

“Jonas!  What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a long story!” Jonas said.  "Come on!  Let’s get you out of here.” 

Jack stumbled out into the corridor.  Jonas had come with a detachment of Langaran space sailors.  A bottle of water was shoved into his hand, and he drank greedily, slopping water over his chin. 

“Where’s Sam?” 

“We’re still looking for her,” Jonas said.  “We want to take you to hospital.” 

“I don’t need a hospital.”  Jack found he had the urge to _run_ down the corridor, as fast as he could, opening doors.   “I need to find Sam!”   

“The Navy is searching this whole place,” Jonas said.  “Come on!” 

They walked down the corridor.  All the cells and steel gates stood wide.  They went through the open labyrinth, into a wing that looked like offices, and into a room marked Commandant. 

There, a couple of women in Langaran Navy uniforms were digging through filing cabinets.  The spacers were throwing files out onto the table, onto the floor. 

“Found her yet?” Jonas asked. 

“Not yet, Magister,” one of the yeomen said. 

“What the hell is going on, Jonas?”  Jack sat down in a chair.  He would have thought he’d had enough sitting, but his knees were shaking under him. 

“It was a coup.” 

“I guessed that, Jonas!  Who’s behind it?”

“General Parkerman,” Jonas said.  “And the BSS.”

“The BSS!”  Jack was starting to loathe that acronym. 

“The Fifth Cuirassiers are _all_ in on it, and some of the Armoured Cavalry.  They took us by surprise last night.  They took the bridges, the wire exchanges, the power stations, the Academy of Sciences… ”  Jonas swallowed.  “And that was when they started arresting people.  They hunted down every coterie they could find, and shot them.”

“Shot them?”  Jack echoed. 

“Shot whole coteries,” Jonas said.  “They didn't even ask who was carrying. They just rounded up all the hosts and shot them all!  They were trying to wipe out every Goa'uld they could get.   We don’t even know how many we’ve lost.”    

Jack could hear the grief in his voice.  He realized that the BSS would have shot Jonas and Kianna too, if they had come back to Tickberry Terrace last night.

 “What’s going on now?” 

“It’s over,” Jonas said.  “It started to come unravelled, almost as fast as it started.  There was one wire-exchange that stayed open.  Virago got on the radio, and countermanded every order Parkerman gave.  And then the civilian police woke up.  We’re just mopping up now.” 

“Where’s Parkerman now?” Jack asked. 

“The Fifth Cuirassiers left the city this morning.  We think they're going north.”

“How the hell did they hide it?” Jack asked.  “They must have been planning this for months!”    

“None of the Fifth Cuirassiers are Fourth Estate,” Jonas said. 

“I mean, how did they hide it from _you?”_ Jack demanded.  “I thought you saw the future!” 

“Hey!” Jonas protested.  “It’s not as if my visions come with subtitles!"

A rattle of shots outside made him jump.  That sounded like the same controlled volley he’d heard all morning.  

“What the heck?” Jonas stared at the yeomen.  “Who ordered _that?”_  

The yeomen looked at each other. 

 _“That’s_ not happening!  Not in _this_ Union!” Jonas jumped to his feet, and ran through the office door.  Jack went with him. They jogged down the corridor, boots squeaking on the linoleum, and burst out the double doors at the end. 

The courtyard outside was full of activity.  A squad of sailors were reloading their rifles.  A group of arguing civilians were being pushed at bayonet point by more sailors.  Against the brick wall lay a pile of limp bodies.  The group of civilians were being pushed in their direction, hand tied behind their backs. 

 _“That’s enough!”_   Jonas yelled, bursting into a sprint. 

“Crap!” Jack snapped.  Nausea leaped up in his stomach as he recognised what he was seeing.  That had been the volleys he’d heard!  He broke into a run after Jonas. 

“Merrybright!” Jonas skidded to a stop facing the senior officer in the courtyard; a tall man in another green Navy uniform.  “Who the _hell_ ordered this?” 

“Magister Quinn!” the Captain said.  He turned to face Jonas, but he also spotted Jack right behind him.  “And General O’Neill!   You can see some traditional Kelownan justice in action.” 

“No, I forbid it!” Jonas snapped. 

“Magister, you don’t have authority over a military matter.” 

“I don’t care if this is a _cookery_ matter!” Jonas snapped.  “Stand those men down!”

“These BSS scum have broken their oaths!” Merrybright said.  “They committed a capital offence by bearing arms against Kelowna!” 

 _“_ _Kelowna_ _is dead!”_   Jonas shouted into his face.  “This is the _Union_ _!_   And the Union doesn’t do firing squads any more!  Whose side are you on, Merrybright?”   

Merrybright recoiled. 

Jonas spun on his heel, and pointed to the nearest petty-officer.  “Sailor!  Take the prisoners back to the cells!” 

“Sir,” the PO said.  He didn’t move.  His eyes went to Merrybright. Waiting for orders. 

“You can’t just countermand my orders in front of my men!” Merrybright complained. 

 _“Watch_ me!” Jonas said.  He turned back to the PO, but he pitched his voice for the rest of them to hear.  He pointed at the bodies. 

“General Parkerman is out there _right now,_ fighting for the right to go on doing _that!_ But the Union doesn't do that any more!  We don't do that!  We're the Union, and the Union is different!  And if you can’t handle that, maybe _you_ should have gone with Parkerman!  _This_ is the day to choose your sides!"

Jonas swung around, back to the petty officer.  “Sailor, what’s your name?”

“Fulton, Magister.”

“And are _you_ a Union man?”

“Yes, sir!  To my last breath!"

“Then these men are in _your_ charge!  Guard them, lock them up, but keep them alive!  They will stand trial for what they’ve done – but in front of the whole world!  _Not_ like this!  Never again like this!”

Petty Officer Fulton looked at Merrybright, and Jack saw him make up his mind.  His hand spiked up in the Langaran salute. “Aye aye, sir!” 

For a second it looked as if Merrybright was still going to argue.  But he seemed to realize there was no benefit in quarrelling in front of his own sailors.  His men were watching, and _all_ of them knew the Magister of Kelowna.  It would be like arguing with Gandhi, Jack realized. 

“As you wish, Magister,” Merrybright grated through his teeth.  “Carry on, Petty Officer Fulton,” he said, although he sounded as if the order tasted sour. 

Jonas turned and walked away.  Jack fell into step at his side. 

And as soon as they were out of earshot of the sailors, Jonas let all the tightly held breath out of him in a loud whoosh.   "That was close," he said. 

“For a second there I thought you’d lose control," Jack said.

 “When do I ever lose control?” Jonas said.   

“Never,” Jack admitted, and then his mouth spoke before his brain could stop him.  “But isn’t that the attraction of the Goa’uld?  Giving up control?” 

Jonas stared at him.  Twin lines appeared between his eyes, as if he was turning the idea over in his head. 

Jack knew he’d scored a hit, although he hadn’t been trying to.  Jonas's self-restraint was like iron.  Handing over control to someone else _had_ to feel good for him. 

Jonas was saved from answering by one of the Naval yeomen jogging over.  She saluted.  “Magister,” she said.  “We’ve opened every room in the place.  Colonel Carter is not here.” 

“She must be,” Jack said.  “They brought us here together.” 

“But she’s not here now, sir,” the Spacer said.  “She’s not in any of the cells, she’s not among the dead.  I can search again, if you want …” 

“Parkerman must have taken her with him!” Jonas said.    

“But why?” Jack asked.  “What does he want with her?  There’s nothing she knows that I don’t know, unless Parkerman suddenly wants to chat about astrophysics.”

“Jack, if Parkerman has her, we have to get to the Rotunda.”

“She’s not here,” Jack said.  He looked around the courtyard.  This was the last place he had seen Sam, but she was not here now.  He felt the fear shudder in his abdomen. “Yeah, let’s go!  No point hanging around here.” 

“Yeah,” Jonas said.  He sent the façade of the BSS building a cold stare of pure hatred.  “Let’s get out of here.” 

* * *

 

 Virago was busy in a meeting when Jonas and Jack arrived at the Rotunda. The boardroom was crowded with tough-looking men and women.  A long table had been turned into a situation table, strewn with maps and regimental markers.  Stenographers were hard at work, clattering loudly.  Junior staff officers were rushing in and out. 

Virago excused himself from the meeting as soon as Jonas put his face around the door.  Another hint of Jonas’s true power, Jack thought.  They went to a small ante-chamber, and an ADC closed the door.

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” Virago said, as soon as the three of them were alone.  “Where’s Colonel Carter?” 

“She’s still missing,” Jack said. 

“We think Parkerman has taken her with him,” Jonas explained.      

“Why?” 

“I’ll ask him that myself when we catch him!” Jack snarled. 

“Oh, _believe_ me, I have a few questions of my own for him,” Virago said coldly.  “We don’t even know how many we’ve lost.  We know we've lost Cantero, Vercingetorix, Aharia, Kestiar, we’re not sure where Caecidia is …”

“Kestiar?”  Jack asked.  He knew that name, didn't he?

“He’s dead,” Jonas said.  “They got his whole coterie, except Lieutenant Kirkly.  Kirkly was in the Academy of Science last night.  He doesn’t know yet.” 

“Is Captain Fortune alive?”

"He and Excelior ringed up to the ship," Jonas said.  "Parkerman tried to get him to surrender the _Hercules,_ but Fortune told him to get knotted.  There were others who stood with us.  Just enough to tip the scales." 

“Parkerman knows he’s lost the City.  He’s taken the Fifth Cuirassiers up the Via Nordica, toward the Steen Tor.  We think they’re trying to get into one of the Border forts.”

Jack remembered the Steen Tor.  Ice and snow; rock and sheer cliffs.  Fighting up there would be a nightmare.  “You have to stop him.” 

“I’ve ordered General Baing to mobilise the Third Army Division," Virago said.  "He’s going to cut the Fifth Cuirassiers off at the bridge over the River Osg.”

“We have to warn the Tiranians,” Jonas said.  "Mobilise _their_ border troops."  

“No.  We can’t let Tiranians fight Kelownan troops,” Virago said. 

“But…”  Jonas said. 

“No!” Virago said.  “Kelownan troops _only!”_

“We have to show the Union that we stand together,” Jonas said.   

“No,” Virago insisted.  “If Kelownan civilians see Tiranians firing on Kelownan troops, they'll turn Parkerman into a martyr.  That will kill the Union instantly!  Parkerman will get what he wants!"  

Jonas shook his head.  He spread both palms.  “As you wish, First Minister.”

 “And the Tau’ri?” Jack said.  “What do you want me to do?” 

“It’s not Earth's problem,” Virago said.

“To hell with that!  Parkerman _made_ it my problem when he pulled over my car and _arrested_ my fiancee!  What can I do to help?”   

“All right,” Virago said.  “Can you go back to the Academy of Sciences?”

“To the Stargate?” 

“Yes,” Virago said.  “Last night, Lieutenant Kirkly took refugees through to Earth.  Your General Landry is refusing to send them back until he hears _your_ voice on the radio.” 

 _Good old Landry!_   “I can do that,” Jack said.  “But I’m coming straight back here again after.  I’m not leaving Langara without Carter.” 

“I’ll tell General Baing you’re being seconded to his general staff, as a military observer,” Virago said. 

“Thank you,” Jack said. 

“Calro can take you to the Academy,” Jonas said.  “He’s outside.” 

 “I have to go back to that meeting,” Virago said.  “I have to authorise moving the Third Army Division – and then I’ve got to speak to the Andari media – and then I've got to speak to the Tiranian Ambassador, he’s flipping his tins about last night … ” 

* * *

 

Calro was indeed waiting in the car when Jack got outside to the parking lot.  He was already in the driver’s seat, and turned over the engine as Jack got into the back. 

“We’re going to the Academy of Science,” Jack said. 

Calro glanced at him in the rear-view-mirror, and then turned his attention back to the road. He didn’t answer. 

Unfriendly, Jack thought.  Also kinda weird.  Calro never seemed to speak, ever.  Did he?  He tried to remember what Calro’s voice sounded like.  Reedy?  Deep?  Hoarse?  No, he had never heard Calro’s voice.  Calro didn’t talk. 

“Hey,” Jack said.  “Why don’t you talk?”

Calro said nothing.  He drove in silence. 

He’d been asked a direct question, and he was still playing Silent Bob?  Was he deaf?  No, he looked back in the rear-view mirror when he was spoken to.  And he took Jonas’s instructions.  “Oy!  Calro!  Cat got your tongue?  Why don’t you talk?” 

_...BECAUSE I DON’T NEED TO!_

Jack clapped both hands to his head, but it didn’t help.  The voice was inside his head, inside his skull!  It was too much!  His brain was going to burst!  _“Stop!”_

The voice stopped. 

Jack opened his eyes, and found himself curled into a ball on the back seat of Jonas’s car.  He’d clamped both hands protectively over his head. And there had been no _sound._   The whole auditory onslaught had been inside his head. 

“You’re a telepath!”  he said hoarsely. 

Calro looked at him in the rear-view mirror.  _..._ _Every trick the Ori played, we learned, and we used against them … We are the hok'taur...  
_

The voice still shuddered horribly against the inside of Jack’s head, but the second time was not nearly as painful.  Either Jack was getting used to it, or Calro had dropped his volume.  

"Did you fight in the Resistance? How many more of you ...?"

 _... Enough!_ Calro cut him off.  ... _I can see your mind!  You think my home is the Planet of the Jerks. Everything we are trying to build, everything we are trying to do BETTER  ... none of it matters to you.  Because in your mind, we are only the Planet of the Jerks!  You are the jerk, Jonathan Jay O'Neill ...  
_

Calro drove the rest of the way in silence.  He didn’t answer any more questions.  He ignored Jack’s attempts at conversation all the way to the Academy of Science. 

* * *

 

The Academy of Science was bustling with troops when Jack arrived.  He went straight down to the hall that held the Stargate, and the Gate technicians allowed him to dial Earth on their DHD. 

As soon as the wormhole cleared, he pressed in his IDC code.  The technician, whose name he had already forgotten, handed him the Bakelite handset of the radio. 

“This is Jack O’Neill, of the SGC!  Can I talk to General Landry?”

The reply was almost instant.  “Jack!  Good to hear your voice!  What’s going on over there?”

“These guys nearly had their asses kicked by a military coup d'état,” Jack said.     

“You know we’ve got a lot of their people here,” Landry said. 

“Yeah, I know.  You can start sending them back now.  Tell them the rebels are running for the hills.  Literally.” 

“What about you, Jack?” 

“I’m going to stick around here and see this one through,” he said. 

“Sir, if this is a Langaran domestic problem, we’re not authorised to take …”

“Screw authorisation, Hank!   The bad guys still have Colonel Carter.  We don’t leave our people behind.”

“I read you Lima Charlie,” Landry said.  “I'll start sending the refugees back.”

The Gate technicians let the wormhole close.   A few seconds later, it started dialling inward again, from the other direction. 

As soon as the wormhole was stable, the first refugees popped out of the event horizon.  They trotted down the Langaran ramp, looking around them as if they still expected soldiers. 

The Langaran Gate technician counted them all in. “Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, and Mr Kirkly makes forty-two!” he finished, at last, and then a final figure popped through, right after Kirkly.  “And Daniel Jackson, of Earth!”

“Jack!”  Daniel said, as soon as he saw Jack O’Neill.   Daniel threw his arms around Jack in a tight hug.  Jack’s ear got a painful jab from the corner of his spectacle frame. 

“Daniel!” Jack said.  The hug took him by surprise, but he was glad to get one. He clapped his hand on Daniel’s back, affectionately. 

“You okay?”  Daniel pulled back and straightened his glasses. 

“Rough night, but I’m okay.” 

He gripped Daniel’s elbow.  Daniel let himself be steered to a quiet corner, where they could put their heads together and talk.  The Langaran refugees were taking up all the attention of the Gate techs; no-one was looking at the two Tau’ri.

“Listen, there’s something I have to tell you,” Daniel said. 

“The Goa’uld are here,” Jack said.     

“You _know?”_

“They're all over this place."

 _"Coteries,_ Jack!" Daniel complained.  _"Coteries!"_

"Did they tell you Jonas Quinn is a Goa'uld too?" 

"Yeah," Daniel agreed.  "Vala says she _told_ you, and you didn't listen." 

Vala had made the right call, the second she met Jonas.  She'd known instantly what Jonas was.  _You stink like a Goa'uld,_ she said, and she was right.  

_"That's_ why Jonas went radio-silent on us for so long," Jack said.  "He knew having the Goa'uld here would mess with our heads." 

"He was right!  It's messing with Landry’s head right now!  He’s already called Homeworld Command.  The Air Force Chief of Staff is flying down from Washington.” 

Jack gripped Daniel's arm.  "You have to warn Landry!  The Goa’uld are on our side!  They're the good guys this time!” 

“Seriously?” 

“The _Goa’uld_ aren’t the one’s who’ve taken Sam!” 

“Sam?"

"General Parkerman has her.  He's running for the mountains, and he’s taken Sam with him.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  But it sure can’t be anything good.  He spent all night killing every Goa'uld he could get his hands on."   

His attention was taken by Kirkly. Someone had sat him down on the edge of the ramp, and it looked as if they were giving him the bad news.  There were a couple of other dark green uniforms around him, speaking to him in sombre voices. 

“I don’t understand … what are you saying... I don't understand...”  Kirkly was saying.  “But what about Kestiar?  Kestiar is all right, isn’t he?  He _must_ be all right!”

“I’m sorry, Joland.  All of them."

“No, no, it can’t be!  My whole coterie?  Kestiar too?  It’s not true!  It must be a mistake!  Oh no, not all of them, _not all of them …”_

Kirkly sagged.  He covered his head with both hands and bent double.  He was mute with horror, unable to comprehend, unable to react, unable to speak. 

Jack couldn’t look at his grief any longer.  He knew grief too well.  He turned, and found Daniel right behind him.

“I won't leave Sam here,” Jack said. 

“I know,” Daniel said.  “I won’t leave _you_ here either.” 

“Guess that means we’re _all_ staying.”   

 “All we need is Teal’c, and it’ll be just like the old days,” Daniel said. 

“We better leave Teal’c out of this, for now,” Jack said.  “When he finds out how many Goa’uld are here, he’ll want to come in here with all guns blazing."

“In that case, I’ll hold down the fort here,” Daniel said.  “You, go get Sam back.” 

“You might have to hold the Air Force off my back,” Jack warned.  

“Don’t worry about me,” Daniel said.  “I can play Absent-Minded Professor for _days."_

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah,” Daniel said.  He reached out and gripped Jack’s shoulder, with surprising strength in his hand.  “You go get Sam back.” 

There was no need for more words.  He and Daniel knew each other too well.   He turned, and left the Gate Room without looking back.

 

 


	8. Survival

A few hours later, Jack O’Neill was back on the train, steaming across the frosty plateau of Kelowna, as if he'd never left it.

The rebels had commandeered every train that had steam raised in Kelowna City.  Parkerman’s armoured column was racing for the Steen Tor along the railway and along every road, as fast as it could.  Parkerman had a twelve-hour head start.  Jack had seen armoured cavalry racing at speed; the history of Blitzkrieg and Kursk and the Six Days War had taught him how fast tanks could cross flat land. 

Parkerman’s column was hammering hard for the safety of the Steen Tor, but the rest of Kelownan army was right behind him.  Parkerman had missed one train: Baing had commandeered the last train left in the city, ordering the Engineers to raise steam as fast as they could, and the boilers to hell!  Now the rest of the Army - infantry, engineers, artillery, Navy, and all - were racing after Parkerman as hard as they could go.  Parallel to the railway, the troop trucks and APCs were roaring their engines to keep up with the train. The race was on to stop the rebels before they reached the Steen Tor.  Whoever won the Steen Tor would change the history of Langara.

They were trying to save the world – but now they were fighting _each other_ again. 

Jack stood at the back of the train’s dining car, listening in despair as Langaran officers screamed at each other. The Kelownans were shouting at the Tiranians. This time the Andari were siding with the Kelownans for a change, and egging them on against the Tiranians.

“This is _your_ fault!” the Tiranian shouted at the Kelownan.  “You Kelownans started this!” 

“All you have to do is seal _your_ border! Problem solved!”

“At the risk of endangering _our_ troops?  This is _your_ rebellion! You fix it!” 

 _“We_ can't fix it without the Navy!”

 _“Hey!”_ the Andari commodore yelled at the Kelownan, changing sides abruptly.  “The Navy doesn’t have the manpower for a ground operation!  We keep _telling_ you Kelownans that, and you don't listen!"  

“After all the money we've spent on you?”

“You sound as if Kelowna is the _only_ country funding the Navy!” 

“Oyyy…” Jack sank down into a chair, his head in his hands.  "These people..."

They had ripped all the booths out of the train's dining car, and turned it into an HQ on wheels.  They’d set up a situation table down the middle of the car, and covered it with maps. Now they were screaming at each other over it, as if they'd forgotten they were in a race to save the world. 

Jack looked up, as the door at the far end of the dining car opened.  Kianna walked in, with Jonas behind her. 

And yet, it wasn’t Kianna.  Her back was straighter; her face was colder.  Her eyes glowed with rage as she took in the scene.

“What is this?” she snapped. The cold metal snarl of the Goa’uld broke through the shouting. 

The Tiranian officer had looked ready to punch his Andari counterpart.  Now he let his fist drop as if he'd forgotten why he had raised it. 

"Uhhm..." 

Zindair stepped up to the situation table.  The men there gave way to the angry Goa'uld.  She spread her hands on the maps spread out on the top, and stared around at them.  Her eyes were cold.  The lamps on the map-table lit up her sculpted cheeks from below like a marble statue in a temple.  

“General Baing has put me in command of this operation.  I have more experience with extracting insurgents from fortified positions than any of you do.  Does anyone have objections to that?”

There was a murmur of surprise around the carriage. Tiranians looked at Kelownans.  Andari looked at both.  Navy and Army looked at each other.  Jack saw the Tiranian officer raise his eyebrows at his Andari counterpart, and the Andari nodded. 

"Fine by us," the Kelownan officer said. 

"We agree," the Tiranian said. 

"We concur," the Andari agreed, raising both hands in surrender. 

For the first time, Jack understood how the Goa’uld could possibly hold this planet together. 

 _“Excellent,”_ Zindair said.  “Then let us take a look at our problem.  What is Parkerman’s goal?  He wants to take down the Union.  Our goal is to deny him that."

Zindair looked around, waiting for someone to comment.   

"Nothing matters but preserving the Union.  Is that clear?  The differences between us are nothing, compared with preserving the Union.  Without the Union, we will _all_ fall."

The Kelownan looked at his Tiranian opponent.  The Tiranian nodded. 

“Very well,” Zindair said.  “The _Hercules_ is parked in low orbit between the mountain and Kelowna City?” 

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“I want her moved, immediately,” Zindair ordered.  “She’s to cross the Steen Tor, and take up station between the mountain and Tiran City.”

“Tiran City?” the Kelownan officer echoed.  “We would leave Kelowna undefended?” 

“Parkerman won’t fire on Kelowna. He wants the support of the civilian population.  But he _will_ fire on Tiran City.  If they’re fired on, the Tiranians will defend themselves.  And the Kelownans will rally around Parkerman.  And then the Union will be truly dead.  So we’ll move the _Hercules_ to defend Tiran.  Send that order to Captain Fortune immediately, if you please.”

“Yes, sir,” a Signal Corps lieutenant saluted.  He departed immediately. 

“Now, let’s look at what we won’t be doing," Zindair said.  "We will _not_ be assaulting the Steen Tor from space.  When I commanded under Baal, I would simply have fed Jaffa troops down the ship's ring transporter until the defenders ran out of bullets.  But I am not that Goa'uld any more, and we are _not_ doing that.  Langaran lives are too precious.  So a space-based assault is off the table.” 

“That leaves us with a direct assault,” one of the Sappers said.  “Armoured infantry, straight up the mountain.”

“We’re not doing that, either,” Zindair said.    

“With respect, ma’am, it’s the only way to get in there.”

Zindair leaned on the table.  “We would be feeding troops into a meat grinder, and that’s _exactly_ what Parkerman wants us to do.  He _wants_ to drag us down into a civil war!  As soon as the fighting starts, all of Kelowna will rally around him, and he knows that.  If we fight, we lose - even if we win.”

“How many times have we Tiranians tried to take the Steen Tor from you, and failed?” one of the Tiranians asked the Kelownan colonel.  “That mountain is impregnable.  Hell, it took the Ori _thirteen days_ to get in there, and they were the Ori!” 

“What does that leave us with?” 

Jack knotted his fists.  He stared at Zindair, hoping the Goa’uld was going to pull a new Goa’uld trick out of nowhere.  Some energy beam, some new Langaran psycho-weapon that could get them into the mountain. Whatever it was, he was ready for _anything …_

“We wait,” Zindair said. 

… anything _except_ _that..._

“We _wait?”_ someone squawked. 

“We can’t get in, so we’ll wait for them to come out.  That mountain is impregnable, except from the inside.”

“Parkerman is a fanatic!” someone said.  “He’s already shot whole coteries!  What makes you think he’ll just come out on his own?” 

“He doesn’t have to come out on his own,” Zindair said.  “His men will bring him out.”

“His men are just conscripts!”

“But conscripts do what their sergeants tell them.  Every mutiny in the history of Langara has always revolved around the sergeants.  Even the Jaffa Rebellion started with one First Prime turning on Apophis.”

Teal’c had been that First Prime, Jack realized. Zindair was talking about Teal’c. 

 “The sergeants will turn on him,” Zindair said.  “When they realize Parkerman is leading them on a fool’s errand.  When they realize he has failed. Most importantly, when they realize they will lose their Rash cards because of him.” 

“It’s a gamble.” 

“His men will turn on him.  Until then, we wait.” 

“Ma’am, I know Parkerman,” a colonel said.  “He’s a cavalry officer.  He’s too impatient for a siege.  He’ll try to break out.” 

“He has nowhere to go,” someone said.  “What’s he going to do with all those tanks, in an underground base?"

“But he still has the big gun from the old _Bellerophon,”_ someone said. “He _could_ open fire on Tirania with the _Bellerophon's_ turret.”   

“He can't fire it,” Zindair said.  “It takes a Goa’uld blood-marker to charge up a ship-buster. The Fifth Cuirassiers has no Goa'uld.” 

“Oh, _crap,”_ Jack muttered. 

Every eye turned to him.  He’d blurted it out louder than he intended. 

“General O’Neill?” Zindair said, staring at him.  "You have something to add?"

“Parkerman has Colonel Carter,” he said.  “She once hosted a Tok’Ra symbiote.  She has the blood-marker.”

“That changes things!” the Tiranian said.  “Parkerman will force her to fire the big guns on Tiran!”

“No,” Jack said.  “Sam won’t fire on civilians!” 

“You’re sure?”  Zindair said. 

Jack knew Sam too well.  She would suffer torture, execution, death, rather than fire a weapon of mass destruction at a city.  She would never kill millions of innocents, even people she didn't like, to save her own life. 

 “I’m sure,” he said.  “She won’t do it, no matter what they do to her.”

“The _Hercules_ is in position, sir,” someone reported from the radio set. 

Zindair looked at Jack for a long moment, and then nodded.  She believed him – or Kianna did. 

“Then the big gun changes nothing,” Zindair said.  “Parkerman has nowhere to go.  All we have to do is wait.  We are all Langarans here, aren't we?  And if there’s one thing I know about Langarans, it’s that we are all very aware of our place in history, aren't we?” 

Zindair looked around. 

“Oh, come now!  We _are_ history.  Parkerman is going to go down in history as the General who led his men up a hill, and down again.  His rebellion is going to be remembered as a farce.    He doesn't know it yet, but he killed Kelowna today, all by himself.  Now.  Colonel Markham?”

“Ma’am?”

“I’ll have you move your men up this road, and take position here. Colonel Hartswood, I’ll have your men up this road on Markham’s left.  You, Captain Collington, you'll take this road ...” 

Zindair and the officers bent down around the table of maps, getting into the details of dispositions; the nitty-gritty of surrounding the mountain with a ring of steel. 

Jack waited until the officers were dismissed.  He waited until Zindair walked away from the table.  He caught up to her and Jonas in the next carriage. 

“Zindair!” 

“General.”  She turned to face him. 

“What is the elevation of the Steen Tor base?”

Zindair’s eyes went fuzzy.  “Kianna says that the main base stands at around 1800 pylons.”

“That’s…?” 

“That’s over 20 000 feet.  The peak is higher.” 

“Sam can’t tolerate that kind of altitude.” 

“I know,” Zindair said.  “I was on the train, remember?” 

“By waiting, you could be condemning Sam to death!” 

“I know,” Zindair said.  “But if I try to get her out by force, I would be condemning thousands of troops to death.  Sam has to wait.”

“She can’t afford to wait.”

“And I can’t sacrifice thousands of lives to save one.  Once upon a time, I could have spent those lives for you.  Once, I _could_ have pushed those troops into that meat-grinder.  But I am _not_ that Goa’uld any more.” 

“Sam’s life depends on getting this siege over with as fast as possible.” 

“I know.”  Zindair stared at him. "I'm sorry, Jack."

To his surprise a single tear ran down Zindair's cheek.  She dashed it away with her wrist immediately. 

“You’re crying!” he said, surprised. 

“It’s not mine, it’s Kianna’s,” Zindair said.  “Kianna says that you love Sam, but she still has to wait.  I'm sorry, Jack.” 

She wiped another tear from her other cheek, and turned away from him.  She went back through the door between carriages. 

Jack turned his back on Jonas, looking at the mountains through the train’s window.  The sun was setting. He sat down heavily on a bench. 

Sam would never fire a weapon of mass destruction at civilians, even to save herself.  She would never ask him to send thousands of troops into fire to save her.  She would look at him with those huge blue eyes, the way she had stared at him through the forcefield on Apophis's half-built battleship, and begged him to leave her.  He knew her too well. 

And if he was in her position, he knew that he would say the same.  _He_ would never ask her to send other people to their deaths to save him.  Not even people he didn't like. 

"Oyyyy," Jack said.  He dragged both hands down his face.  "This planet..." 

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said.  “This is all my fault.”

“You’re damn right it’s your fault!” Jack looked up at him.  His anger snapped out of his control all at once.  “Aren’t you supposed to see the future?” 

Jonas recoiled. 

“You invited us here!” Jack shouted at him, standing up.  “You and your Union!  I knew something was fishy the minute you came through the Stargate!” 

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said.  “We will get her back.” 

“If she dies up there – God!  – I will never forgive you!”  Jack shouted at him.  He clenched his fists, realizing that he was on the verge of hitting Jonas. 

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said.    

Jack turned away.  He couldn’t stand to look at Jonas’s face any more.  He knew it wasn’t Jonas’s fault, but he wanted to take his fear out on _someone_. 

He pushed past Jonas, and walked from carriage to carriage. 

The train was crowded with infantry, packed into every seat and every bunk.  The carriages bristled with weapons and eager aggressive youngsters, but they all looked at the storm on Jack’s face, and got out of his way.  Nobody stopped him. 

He fetched up at the guard carriage; the caboose.  There was a railing right at the end of the train, overlooking the rushing tracks.  He gripped the iron with both hands and stared out at the sunset. 

He knew that getting angry and pushing Jonas away wouldn’t help, but he couldn’t help it.  He was helpless to do anything for Sam.  Teal’c would laugh at him silently, and Daniel would counsel him to patience, but today Jack was alone. 

The sun was setting over the Steen Tor.  He remembered the mountain passes – the ice, the cold, the harsh grey peaks.  Just two days ago they had both nearly died up there.  And now Sam was back up there again, alone, and in enemy hands.

Sam would live or die, and he couldn’t help her. 

“Christ, this planet!” he shouted, and realized that there were tears in his eyes. 

* * *

 

But Sam Carter was alive. She was furious, but she was alive. 

She had been taken out of her cell, and marched onto an Army truck, and from the truck to a train.  The train had rushed all day across the countryside, crossing the same flat plateau she had crossed with Jack and Jonas just two days ago. 

Now they had left the train, and climbed into the back of an Army truck.  The truck’s engine had struggled, high, high up into the snow. 

Even through the narrow back flap of the truck, she could see they were driving into a fortress.  She saw tank traps and high walls and anti-personnel spikes, and a chain link fence.  The tailgate banged down.  The soldiers started jumping out to the bellows of their sergeants.   

“You.  Out.”  The sergeant who had watched her all day held the muzzle of his gun just inches from her face. 

“What is this place?” she asked. 

“Shut up!  Get up!  Move!” 

She got up, and jumped off the tailgate.  She landed awkwardly with her hands tied in front of her, but she got a chance to look around. 

It was night.  She was in a gravel yard, chipped stones grating underfoot.  Wall of rock and snow hung over the yard.  The trucks were offloading the soldiers, and they were marching into a tunnel, bored straight into the flank of the mountain. 

“This is the Steen Tor!” she said. 

“Walk!”  The soldier shoved the back of her shoulder. 

“I can’t breathe here.”

“You’ll be fine!”

“The air is too thin up here.  I can’t breathe at this altitude.”

“Shut up!” 

She tailed onto the end of the row of soldiers and followed them into the tunnel.  They were soon deep underground, following an underground road that spiralled deeper and deeper into the mountain.  Deep underground, and going deeper.  She trudged through a maze of corridors and blast doors, deeper and deeper into the mountain.  The Steen Tor base was every bit as much a labyrinth as the SGC. 

Finally, by the time she was totally lost, she reached a lieutenant waiting for them next to a door. 

“In here!” The lieutenant opened a door, and the sergeant pushed her inside. 

Sam found herself in what looked like a briefing room. 

“Ah, Colonel Carter,” General Parkerman said, smiling at her.  “Glad to see you!” 

“The feeling is very much _not_ mutual,” she said, coldly. 

She felt stiff with fear, but she knew she wasn’t showing it, and she was still thinking clearly.  She took a few seconds to scan the room. 

Parkerman stood at the head of the table.  He was the only one with General’s insignia, but all the rest of the men clustered around him – and they were all men – had either the insignia of the Fifth Cuirassiers, or the Third Armoured Cavalry. 

“Well, I’m sorry we had to get off to such a rough start,” Parkerman said.  He smiled, but his smile was oily.  It was the smirk of a man who wants something. 

“You arrested us!  In the middle of the night!”

“It was necessary to get you away from Magister Quinn, and the lies of the Snakes.   I’m sure after I’ve explained, you’ll understand.” 

“What is this place?” 

“Ah, _this_ place?” Parkerman said.  _“This_ is the old Steen Tor missile base.  Impressive, isn’t it?  It was used in the last war to launch pilot-less bombers into Tirania.  And now, it is the home of the biggest ground-to-space gun on the planet.” 

“You have a ground-to-space weapon?” 

“We pulled it out of a crashed ha’tak, after the fall of the Ori,” Parkerman said. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I don’t like _anything_ about you,” Sam said. 

“Well, we’ll see.  We’ll talk again soon,”  Parkerman nodded to the sergeant.  “Lock her away.  You know where.” 

She was led away.  She was pushed into an empty cell with six bunks, and locked in. 

* * *

 

Just ten o’clock, the train screeched to an unscheduled halt. 

The railway bridge over the Osg had been blown up.  The train’s engineers received radio word from the crossing guard, just in time to stop the train. 

Jack jumped out, and walked forward with a group of Langaran officers.  They walked past the puffing engine, clouds of steam puffing around it in the dark.  He walked to a rock on the edge of the gorge, and looked down a few hundred feet to the bottom. 

“Crap,” he muttered. 

Even under the moonlight he could see the steel tangle at the bottom of the rocks.  The other end of the bridge protruded from the far side like a broken tooth.  He had travelled across this same bridge just a few days ago, but no-one was getting over the Osg this way now. 

“We’re not fixing _that_ any time soon,” one of the Sappers said to him, shaking his head. 

“We’ll have to go around,” Jack said.  “Is there a way?”

“There’s a way, but it will take longer,” the Sapper said.  “And every hour we waste going around gives the rebels time to dig in.  Damn Parkerman!” 

Jack turned around and left the rocky outcrop.  Staring down into the gorge wouldn’t get the bridge back.  He walked back to the train, clouds of water-vapour puffing in front of his nose and mouth.  He went to the dining-car/HQ, and pulled himself back up into car. 

Jonas and Zindair were talking, leaning over the maps.  “The bridge is gone,” Jack said. 

“We’re already routing the troops around.  We’ll have to abandon the train and go on by truck,” Zindair said, pointing down to the map.  “There’s another bridge over the Osg, twenty-seven cables east.”

“Do you have enough trucks for all of us?” 

“Yes.  But not for you.  You can’t come with us.” 

“The hell I’m not!”

“Our Base at Gravity Point is going to be up at 14 000 feet.”

“I can deal with 14 000 feet,” Jack said.  “That’s the altitude of Pike’s Peak!  I’ve been up to Pike’s Peak.  Hell, Jonas went with us the one time!  Vouch for me here, Jonas!” 

“He did,” Jonas said to Zindair. 

“I am coming with you,” Jack said.  “Even if I have to walk.  I would sooner die myself than leave Carter up there.” 

Zindair looked at him.  Her gaze went out of focus, with the fuzzed-out expression that meant host and symbiote were conferring. 

“Very well.  You can come.  But no further than Gravity Point Base!  No further!” 

“No further, I swear.”

“You’re no use to Sam if you kill yourself trying to get to her!” 

“No further than the Base,” Jack said.  He crossed his fingers.  “Scout’s honour.” 

* * *

 

Sam was locked into a cell, with a choice of six bunks.  They unlocked her hand-cuffs, and left her alone.  She picked a bunk at random, and sat on it. 

She didn’t know how far underground she was.  The place had the feel of Cheyenne Mountain.  The air was cold, and yet stifling.  The walls had been painted battle-ship grey, but they smelled like old mould.  The bunks’ blankets had been folded with military precision, and she lay down on one, and went to sleep.

She didn’t know how long she slept, buried underground with the light that never changed.  She was woken by the sound of someone knocking quietly at the cell door. 

_“Psst!"_

She sat up. 

The whisper came again.  _“Psst!  Wake up.  Come here.  Psst!”_

It couldn’t be that sergeant again?  No.  He would just bang the door open and shout at her. This was someone else. 

Sam got up and padded over to the door. 

“Who’s there?” she asked. 

 _“Don’t-shout-don’t-shout-don’t-shout!  J_ _ust listen!”_

“I’m listening.”

_“O'Neill is safe.  We left him in Kelowna.  Parkerman wanted you, not him.  He's safe.”_

“Who are you?”

_“I have to go, they're coming back!  Just hang in there! I have a plan to get us both out of here!”_

“Hey!  Who are you?” she hissed, but he was going away.  She heard his boots scuffing rapidly on the floor. 

She waited at the door, silently. 

A few moments later, she heard the boots stamping up toward the door.  She heard a man bark an order.  "Open it!" 

The lock was turned.  Sam backed away from the door as it opened.  

It was the same sergeant as before.  “You!  Come with me!” 

 “Who did you piss off to get _this_ duty?” Sam asked, getting up. 

“Don’t get lippy with me, bitch!  I know how to hit you so bruises won’t show!  Come with me!” 

He didn’t bother handcuffing her this time.  He led her up a few levels of the base, with the trooper behind her to stop her fighting back.  She was taken up a winding staircase, and through a blast door to a large buried chamber. 

She found herself standing on a wide gallery, looking down into a tangle of advanced technology.  The ceiling was thirty feet above her head, the floor was thirty feet below.  The machine was generously decorated with Goa’uld hieroglyphs, and laid with gold and red enamel, and she recognised it immediately. 

It was the turret of one of the huge ship-killer guns of a Goa’uld mothership.  She couldn't imagine how the Langarans had got the gun down here, but she guessed that its muzzle pointed upward out of the mountain. 

General Parkerman was there, waiting for her, bracketed by his two Colonels and a flock of lieutenants. 

“Good morning,” he said, as if she had come to see him voluntarily.    

“Parkerman.” 

“We got off on the wrong foot last night.  Now it’s time for me to explain why we're here today.” 

“You don’t need to explain,” Carter said.  “I’m not giving you what you want.” 

“You don’t understand the stakes here.  You see, you and I are on the same side.  You fought a war against the Goa’uld for years.” 

“All wars end.”

“Your war may have ended!  But ours is just beginning!  The Goa’uld have infiltrated our planet.  Listen to the lies that Dirk Virago and Jonas Quinn are spreading!  Do you _really_ think that the Union is going to end with anything other than the total destruction of Kelowna?”

“Maybe Kelowna isn’t worth saving?” 

“Kelowna is our home!  Wouldn’t you fight to save the United States of America?  But we need your help.  Only you can stop the Goa’uld taking over Kelowna!”

 “What do you want me to do?”

Parkerman grinned, as if he knew he’d won.  He pointed to the gun’s firing platform. 

 “Fire it,” Parkerman pointed at the gun.  His voice was oily with satisfaction.   “It’s already aimed.” 

“At what?”  she asked. 

“We already aimed it.  All it needs is a Goa’uld blood-marker.  You just need to spool up the naquadah, and fire it.”

She turned away from Parkerman, and walked over to the gun’s firing platform.  The guards didn’t stop her. 

The turret’s crew stood by, watching her.  They were ready to open fire as soon as the gun recognised her.  This gun was capable of blowing up another mothership with a single shot, but it needed one thing first.  The primary weapon of a ha’tak would only fire if it recognised the blood-marker of a Goa’uld or Jaffa, standing on the targeting platform with their palm on the firing handles.

 Sam stepped up on the platform.  She bent down and looked through the crystals of the gun’s sights. The targeting array popped up in her vision in perfect 3D, glowing under a pink sunrise.  Sky-scrapers; minarets; onion domes.  A city …

She stepped back from the control platform, careful not to touch the firing handles. 

“Are you mad?  You’re going to fire a ship-buster at your own city?”

“That’s not _our_ city,” one of the Colonels said, his face twisting with hatred.  “That’s the capital of Tirania!  You would be doing millions of slaves a favour!”   

“I’m not firing a ship-buster at a city!” 

“We are fighting for what’s _right,”_ Parkerman said, in a reasonable voice.  “You have to help us.”

“Help you drag this world into _another_ war?  You’re a maniac!” 

“Then you’re forcing my hand, madam,” Parkerman said.  He shook his head, as if he was sad at what she was making him say!  “I’m afraid that we have your lover, General O’Neill.  And if you don’t comply with my request, I’ll be forced to give the order to my men to shoot him.” 

“You haven’t got him,” Sam said.  “Because if you did, you’d threaten him in front of me.” 

“I have him where I can get to him.  I’m sorry to do this, Colonel Carter, but I am fighting for the very life of my country, and I have no choice.  Do it, or he dies.”

She was suddenly furious with Parkerman.  “If he was here, he’d tell you to go to hell himself!” 

She saw his face twitch with rage, and knew he was abandoning the easy way in favour of the hard way.   

“Enough negotiations!”  He snapped his fingers at two non-coms  “You two!  Grab her!  Put her on those firing handles.” 

Sam whirled around, but the sergeant was already right behind her.  She lashed out with her fist for his nose.  Her knuckles exploded against his nose and he went down, but someone else grabbed her neck from behind.  The other sergeant grabbed her left hand.  The lieutenant himself grabbed her right hand. 

She fought the lieutenant, kicking wildly, but the three of them were far too strong for her.  They carried her over to the firing handles.  She fought to wrench her right arm back, but the sergeant locked her elbow straight.  He forced open her clenched fist, one finger at a time.  She shook with fury, her jaw clenched tight, but he pressed her palm against the firing handle.  

The firing handle did nothing. 

“What the hell…” the lieutenant muttered. 

“Do it again!”  Parkerman shouted. 

The sergeant obeyed.  He pressed her palm into the firing handle.  It didn’t respond.  The command crystals did not glow.  They should light up with a red glow as the weapon charged up to full power.  But the crystal panel stayed black. 

“It’s not working, General!” 

She was sure that the Goa’uld protein was fading from her bloodstream.  The strength Jolinar had given her was almost gone.  She could barely energise a hand-healing-device these days unless she cleared her mind and focused all her attention on it.

“I can control it,” she lied.  “You can’t force me.” 

The sergeant let her go with an angry shove.  She dropped to her hands and knees on the gun platform. 

“You can’t seriously ally yourself with the Goa’uld!”  Parkerman shouted down at her.  “You know what they’ve done!  You know what they’re capable of doing!  The Goa’uld are evil!” 

“The Goa’uld are not evil!” Sam sat up.  “The Tok’Ra are not evil!  And neither are the Fourth Estate!  They’re your people!  The Fourth Estate are part of your Union!” 

“The Union is the greatest threat to Kelowna that we have ever faced!  Not Anubis – not the Ori – but Jonas Quinn, and his Snake, and their delusions!  They are taking away what it means to be Kelownan.  They’re destroying the Kelownan way of life!

“The Kelownan way of life _sucks!”_ Sam shouted up at him. 

Parkerman recoiled. 

Sam pushed herself to her feet.  She raised her voice.  She wasn’t talking to Parkerman any more.  She was pitching her voice past Parkerman, to the troops manning the gun turrett. 

“The Kelownan way of life _sucks!”_ she shouted across the gallery.  “Do you think the rest of the galaxy lives like this? I’ve _seen_ the rest of the galaxy!  I’ve  seen what’s out there!  And so has Jonas Quinn!” 

 “Shut up!”  Parkerman shouted.  He thrust his fist at her, threatening to hit her. 

The troopers were looking at her. They were standing by the gun, but they were all looking at her.  She aimed her voice at their silent staring faces Parkerman’s men.   

“The Kelownan way of life is not worth fighting for!  Fear, propaganda, re-education camps, arrests in the middle of the night,  food rations…!  It’s not _normal_ to have your food rationed!  Standing in a queue for an hour every day for an _egg?_  You think the rest of the galaxy queues for their food like that?  They _don’t!_  The BSS is _lying_ to you!” 

“Shut up!”  Parkerman punched her across the face.  He was tall and heavy, and his fist planted her over onto the cement, stunned.  She landed on her side, blinking whirling stars out of her eyes. 

“Get her out of here!”  he shouted. 

She sat up.  She shouted at the soldiers.  “Do you want to live on the Rash _for ever?”_

But she was out of time.  The soldiers grabbed her arms and dragged her to her feet.   Parkerman thrust his face against hers.  His face was purple.  “We’ll give you a few days without food!” he snarled.  “Then we’ll see what you think!” 

The bitter snort burst out through her lips in spite of herself.  The altitude would kill her long before hunger did.p“I’m sorry,” Jonas said. p“The feeling is very much “We will get her back.”    She could already feel the heaviness in her lungs.  She didn’t mean to laugh at him, but she couldn’t help it. 

Parkerman recoiled, as if being laughed at by an enemy was shocking. 

“Take her away!” he ordered. 

When they locked her back into the cell, she stumbled over to the bed, and lay down on the stiff grey blankets. 

Her bruised face hurt, but spitting defiance at Parkerman had felt good!  Jack would be proud of her, she thought.  

Now, if only she could find a way out of here before the altitude killed her... 

* * *

 

Gravity Point Base was perched above a bend on the Osg River, in the foothills of the Steen Tor.

The manpower of the base had grown tenfold overnight.  Trucks and tanks had powered through all night.  Staff officers and orderlies and stenographers were coming and going through the front door of HQ at full tilt.  The divisions of the army had been spread out in a broad arc, all around the Steen Tor. 

On the other side of the Steen Tor, the Tiranian military were fencing in Parkerman’s men from the north.  Parkerman had nowhere to go. The Steen Tor was surrounded by steel.   

From the parade ground, Jack could see the sharp teeth of the Steen Tor, rising up into the sky; a wall of rock to the north.  The Steen Tor looked exactly like the Himalayas; every inch as hostile as Everest. 

One of the naval officers had pointed out the names of the peaks.  He knew exactly which peak Sam was trapped inside.  The wind was picking up, and he could see a long plume of snow rising off the summit.  

Sam was right there, right under that white plume of snow.  But there was nothing he could do but wait.  He might as well be in orbit, for all the good he could do for her. 

“General O’Neill!” 

He turned.  A Signal Corps trooper had just dashed up, with his hand tipped up in the Langaran salute.  He returned the salute with the US version.  “Soldier?” 

“There’s a call for you, sir, in the Telecomms Office!  It’s this way, sir!” 

“Thank you.”

Jack followed the Signalman to one of the offices in the base. 

It was a long room, underground, lined with radio equipment.  The Langaran military hadn’t developed an Internet, as DARPA had done in the 1960s on Earth, but Jack spotted a brand-new crystal comms array on the far side of the room; all flickering lights and glowing holograms.  This planet was skipping the development of the Internet altogether, and going straight from analogue to crystal tech. 

But the signalman didn’t lead him to the crystals. He led him over to an old-fashioned switchboard instead, with an old fashioned speaker, and a  Bakelite microphone.  The microphone smelled of sweaty leather.  He could hear the crackle of an open line through the speaker. 

“Sir, you have General O’Neill on the line,” the switchboard operator said.  “General, you’re through to the Academy of Sciences.” 

Jack spoke into the microphone, feeling as if he was a 1940s sports announcer.  “General O’Neill here?” 

The voice crackled, as if it came from the moon.  “Jack?” 

He recognised the voice instantly.  _Ah, crap,_ he thought.  It was the Chief of Staff of the Air Force; Jack’s boss in Washington. 

And this was a telephone line, which meant General Schwartz was calling him from Kelowna City.  Which meant that Schwartz had seen through Daniel Jackson's obfuscating and bluffing and pretending to be stupid, and stepped through the Stargate himself. 

“Jack, where the _blazes_ are you?”  Schwartz demanded. 

“Sir, I’m at a military base in the foothills of the Steen Tor.  I'm with a large detachment of the Kelownan Army.  We’re settling in to wait out the … _separatists.”_

“I’m real sorry, Jack, there is no ‘we.’  You are too far from the Stargate, on a planet that’s completely overrun with Goa’uld.  Pull back to Kelowna City.”

Jack tightened his grip on the microphone.  “Sir, the separatists have Colonel Carter.”

“I heard,” Schwartz said.  “But our alliance with the Tok’Ra is too important to jeopardise right now.  You need to pull back to the Stargate, and wait for orders."  

“To hell with the Tok’Ra!  The war with the Goa’uld is _over!"  
_

“Exactly!  That’s why we need to liaise with our diplomatic corps, and decide on the best course of action to Earth’s interests …”

“Sir!  Sam Carter doesn’t have that much time!”

“General O'Neill, you will return to the Stargate!  That’s an order.  Sam Carter is a valuable officer, but she’s on her own right now.”

“I can’t leave her there!” 

“I know you’ve served with her for years, but…”

 “She’s my fiancee!”

Silence on the line.  Schwartz didn’t answer. 

“She’s my fiancee,” Jack said, gripping the microphone.  “We’re lovers.  We're getting married as soon as I retire.”    

“So.  That’s how it is.” 

“I’m not following that order.  I can't leave her behind.  I won't.”

“You know what this means, Jack?”

“I know exactly what it means.”

“Homeworld Command can’t afford a commander who can't decide between his duty and his dick.” 

“There's no decision to be made, sir.  You’ll have the letter on your desk as soon as I get home.”

“This isn’t a good end to your career, General.”

“Got no regrets, sir,” Jack said.  “I would rather die myself, than lose Carter.  We’ve been lovers for years.  I’ve tried to hide it, but I’m done.  I _love_ her.  I can't leave her here.” 

“In that case,” Schwartz said.  “You go get her back.  You can think of _that_ as your last military order.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Schwartz, out.”

Jonas had come up behind him.  He had heard the conversation. 

 “He’s letting you stay!  That’s very generous of him.”

“No, he’s not,” Jack said.  He pushed the microphone away from him, and swung the swivel chair around to face Jonas. 

“But…”

“Jonas, I just resigned from the Air Force!  I’ll be lucky if I’m not court-martialled for disobeying a direct order.”

Jonas blew out his breath.  “Sam is going to kill you herself!”

“I was going to retire anyway,” Jack said, shrugging.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets.  “No regrets.”    

“We just have to get Sam back.”

“She has to be okay.”  Jack clenched his fists, holding onto hope.  He repeated his words, making them true in his mind. 

“She is going to be okay,” Jonas promised.  “Don’t lose hope, Jack.  You’re getting married!  She _has_ to be okay.” 

* * *

 

Sam was sitting on the bunk, when she heard a tap at the door. 

_“Psst!”_

It had been a long, boring day.  There had been no meals, no company, not even a book to read.  Some hours ago, a sentry had come around and turned off the cell’s light. 

She jumped from the bunk, and padded to the door.  “Hey,” she said softly. 

 _“It’s me,”_ the voice said.  _“We’re getting out of here tonight.”_

She heard the door being unlocked.  It opened. 

The man who slipped inside wore the uniform of a cavalry lieutenant.  She had seen him before, once in Parkerman’s briefing room, and again that morning in the gun turret.  He had the same pale face and sculpted nose as Jonas; a cast she was starting to recognise as particularly Kelownan. 

“We have to go,” he said to her. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am Kestiar.” 

“Kestiar?” She knew that name, didn’t she?    

“We’ve met before,” he whispered.  “You struck my host unconscious in Captain Fortune’s office.”

“You’re a Goa’uld?”

“Shhh!”  he hushed her with his hand.  “Yes, I’m a Goa’uld.” 

“You changed hosts?” 

“They were shooting my coterie.  My host told me to jump, while I had the chance.  But we’ve got to get out of here, right now.  Come on!”

He opened the door again, and she followed him out.  He locked the door behind her. 

“They won’t check on you until morning.  Most of the base is lights-out.” 

“Let’s go!” 

He led her quickly down the dim corridors.  They went up spiral staircases, and through blast doors.  They were stopped by a sentry just once, who saluted Kestiar’s uniform, but clearly didn’t recognise that Sam was supposed be locked up three floors below. 

“The troops are going to turn on Parkerman, but we’re running out of time,” Kestiar said, as they walked.  “Parkerman is going to shoot you unless you cooperate.”

“I won’t drop a WMD on civilians, even if he does shoot me.”

“I know.  That’s why I made a plan to get both of us out of here tonight.  I’m losing control of my host.  We get out now, or Parkerman gets his WMD.” 

Kestiar stopped halfway down one dark corridor.  He unlatched a maintenance hatch. 

“Phew, the crews didn’t find it!” he said, and pulled out two rucksacks.  “I stashed these here this afternoon.”

He dumped it on the floor.  Sam knelt with him, and opened the first rucksack.  There was a thick cold-weather coat; hat; scarf; snow boots; crampons; ice-axe… It looked like antiquated equipment that Edmund Hillary would have recognised. 

“We’re climbing out?”  she asked. 

“There’s a ventilation shaft right there,” Kestiar said, pointing down the corridor.  “It’s the only way out.  The main access tunnels are too heavily guarded. Can you climb?” 

“I’ve climbed before,” Sam said, pulling on the heavy coat. “I can do it.” 

They dressed quickly. 

The rucksacks included light rations and water canteens; flash-light and batteries; ropes, and some other gear they could use.  No weapons, which was a pity, but Sam would take what she could get.  She left the crampons till last, not wanting to make pick marks on the floor. 

Kestiar led her to another hatch, and opened it.  He climbed in, and Sam followed him.  The hatch sealed behind her with a solid thunk.  Sam turned on her flashlight, and realized that the hatch could only be opened from inside. There were no steel dogs on the outside. 

“One of my coterie is a military engineer,” Kestiar said.  He turned the torch around the narrow shaft they stood in.  “I have all his schematics in my head.  This shaft opens onto the south face of the summit.  It’s about sixty pylons up.”

“The door opens only from the inside,” Sam said. 

“Once we’re out, we’re out.” 

 “Then let's get out of here, shall we?” Sam grinned at him.  She gripped the steel ladder with her gloved hands, and started pulling herself up.

It was a long climb to the surface, with the weight of the rucksack pulling down on her shoulders, and Kestiar breathing heavily a few feet below.  There were three cross-shafts, sealed with heavy blast-doors, designed to prevent heavy bombing from penetrating the mountains.  At each blast door, they stopped to take a rest from the long climb. 

At last, they reached the last blast door.  The trap-door was opened with a wheel.  It took the strength of both of them to push it open above their heads. 

As soon as they climbed out, she could feel the cold in the walls of the tunnel.  The tunnel glowed with its own light.  To her left, she saw the glitter of snow and stars. 

Sam walked out, following the light, as Kestiar let the trapdoor drop.  She walked out of the last few feet of tunnel, and stopped outside, holding her breath in awe. 

She was on the roof of the world!

It was night.  There was nothing above her but the Milky Way.  Sam felt as if she could just reach up one hand, and pull herself off the snow into the stars.  The peaks of the Steen Tor receded under the starlight like rows of stone teeth.  She wanted to reach out and touch them. 

It was cold, and crisp, and perfect. Few people could even have seen Everest like this, under the stars. 

“It’s beautiful!” she sighed, the water vapour clouding in front of her nose and mouth.    

“This is one _hell_ of a beautiful planet,” Kestiar said.  “I may be a Goa’uld, but _my_ soul was meant for Langara.” 

“Let’s go home,” Sam said to him.  She pulled the neck of her buff over her nose and mouth, and started walking. 

They weren't quite on the summit, but they were close.  They walked down the first ridge together, their crampons crunching into the glowing ice.  Sam’s coat was warm, but the ice prickled on her eyes.  Every breath was so cold, it stung her throat. 

And then Sam began to cough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter to go before Jack and Sam are back together! Editing the last chapter one more time before I post it.  
> 


	9. The Steen Tor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a hiatus from publishing because I just wasn't happy with the ending. I finished it and realized - I hate it. So I pulled all the stuffing out and wrote it again.

The sun came up fast. 

Sam and Kestiar had walked all night, trying to find a safe path down, between the sheer knife-edge cliffs and the snow.  Even after six hours, they were still high on the mountain.  As the sun rose, they found a rock to sit on, to eat some biscuits and dried meat, and drink from their canteens.  They were both tired and sweaty, even in the snow.  The Langaran snow-gear might look antiquated, but it was very effective. 

“This coat is very warm,” Sam said.   

“It’s musk-ox hair,” Kestiar said. 

“Musk-ox?” 

“Langarans love their musk-oxen almost as much as their horses," Kestiar said. "You should try musk-ox liver, for a taste of real Kelownan cuisine."

Sam remembered the horrible acorn coffee.  She shuddered. “I’ll pass,” she said.   

"Wise of you," Kestiar grinned.

Her nose was running from the cold air, but her cough seemed to be stable for now. Every step they took downhill was helping her.  “We can’t stay up here too long,” she said. 

“You can’t survive up here in this thin air.  Neither can I.”

“You’re inside a Langaran host," she said, surprised. "They don't have trouble with the altitude.”

“They don't, but we do. We Goa'uld take our oxygen from our hosts' blood. I’m going to lose control much faster up here.”

“Lose control?” 

“He's fighting me,”  Kestiar said. 

“You took him by force,” Sam realized.

“I had no choice!"  the Goa’uld said.  “I had nowhere to go!”

“What about your coterie?” 

“They're all dead." 

"Dead?" 

Kestiar stared out across the snowy mountains.  His eyes were bitter.  "General Parkerman spent all night, rounding up as many coteries as he could catch and shooting by firing squad.  My whole coterie is dead.” 

Sam stared at him, her blood running cold.  _That_ was what she had seen from the BSS window!  Parkerman had been shooting whole coteries.  All that intimacy, all that pride, and trust … cut short in a hail of bullets. 

“Parkerman did the one thing the Ori didn’t think of doing,” Kestiar said, quietly.  “Just round up the whole coterie, and shoot them all at once.  That way, you _know_ you killed the symbiote.  On the back of the truck, my coterie told me to save myself if I saw the chance … so I did.  At the last moment, in the truck.  And then I saw them shoot my coterie in front of me, in the courtyard of the BSS building.” 

“I’m so sorry, Kestiar!” 

“My coterie is gone,” Kestiar said.  “All my hosts, and they died to save me.  They all saw me take this host on that truck, but they didn’t say anything.  They could have saved themselves, but they didn’t.  They died to save me.”

Sam didn’t know what to say.  She knew something of the intimacy between a Tok’Ra and a host.  She still remembered the sensation of Jolinar of Malkshur dying inside her, sacrificing herself so that Sam could live.  She remembered her father, choosing to die with Selmak. 

 Kestiar drew a deep breath.  “I can’t hold on much longer.  This host is fighting me with everything he’s got.  He's going to win eventually."

“Can he do that?”

“Langarans can,” Kestiar said.  “We need to get to a safe place before that happens!  Look!”  He pointed across the mountains. 

Sam turned to look.  A line of black cloud was advancing between the peaks.  It was flowing toward them like a frozen wave. 

“There’s a storm coming,” Sam said.  “We can’t be stuck in that at nightfall.  We better move.”

* * *

 

Jack had spent the night in a bunk in the single-officers’ quarters.  He got up  before dawn, unable to pretend to sleep any longer. 

In the mess hall, he was trying to eat a bowl of Langaran muesli.  He checked it to see if it was really muesli, and then ate it.  It went down like cardboard, and sat in his stomach like cement.  He felt as if his gut was too tightly knotted to digest anything. 

Jonas found him a few minutes later, gnawing tiredly on a mouthful of muesli.  The Langaran sat down opposite him. 

“Anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Jonas said.  “But Zindair is sure they’ll come out,”

“You trust her?”

“Well, I did marry her.” 

“I thought you married Kianna.”

“I married both of them.  There are three people in my marriage.  And sex with a Goa'uld is _fantastic._ You haven't done kinky until you've had a threesome with a Goa'uld."  

Jack abandoned his muesli.  “Jonas, your marriage is _weird.”_

“Hear that?”  Jonas said, cupping his hand to his ear. 

“No?” 

“I think it’s the sound of the pot calling the kettle black.  Ding-ding-ding.” 

“Hah!” Jack said.  “Sarcasm is unbecoming in the very young.”  

“But the very young do not always do what they are told,” Jonas replied.  He tilted his head, waiting for Jack's response. 

Jack grinned back at him.  His reply was interrupted by a bugle blowing outside. 

Someone ran into the hall, and yelled across the room, “They’re coming out!” 

Jack stared at Jonas.  For a second, his little game with Jonas had let him forget where he was.  "They're coming out!" He and Jonas pushed their chairs back and got up.

“What’s going on?” Jack grabbed a lieutenant by the elbow. 

“They surrendered!”  the lieutenant told Jack.  “Lady Zindair called it right!"

"I told you she knew what she was doing!" Jonas said.

"Parkerman's men called Lady Zindair and said they were ready to lay down their arms!" the lieutenant said. "They're coming down from the mountain already!"

“Zindair called it right!”  Jack said, surprised.  He clapped Jonas on his shoulder.  “Your Goa'uld was right!"  

He felt a huge sense of relief. There had been no battle, no siege. The _Bellerophon_ ’s great gun had not fired. It was over. Sam was safe. Jack might be facing a court martial - he would take the blame for their affair – but he was ready.  Sam was safe, and they would go home after the Unification Ceremony, and get married.  

The first of Parkerman’s column came into sight of Gravity Point Base at mid-morning. They were marching down the road, and they kept going. They had been instructed to leave their armoured vehicles and weapons behind, and some of them were limping a bit by the time they reached Gravity Point.  They had gone up the mountain in their tanks, and they were coming down on foot.

“Colour me unsympathetic,” Jack said, turning away from the marching soldiers.  He could see how many men Parkerman had taken with him; hundreds. Not an army but certainly enough to do a lot of killing.

Parkerman was brought into Gravity Point an hour later.  He was brought into the Base HQ, with a Union Navy spacer on either side. The spacers did not look at all reluctant to shoot him if he gave them an excuse, like breathing too hard.  He was pulled to a stop in front of the desk, facing the officers around Zindair. His comrades, his ex-colleagues - now his enemies.  Their faces were cold.

But Parkerman's face was purple.  The indignation of a terrorist who can't believe others don't see his violence as he does, Jack realized. He felt nothing about the deaths he'd caused.

"Treacherous snake!" he raged at Zindair.  "History will spit on your name! Everything I did was to preserve Kelowna! Go on, kill me! I will be a martyr for the freedom of Kelowna!"

“You need to be _remembered_ before you can become a martyr,” Jonas said. “You marched two hundred men up a mountain, and down again. History is going to laugh at you.”

Parkerman saw Jack O’Neill, standing behind Zindair.  “And you!  The great O'Neill! Siding with Snakes against your own people!”

 “ _My_ people don’t put civvies up against walls and shoot them!” Jack snapped back. “Where is Sam Carter?”  

 “The bitch escaped.”

“Escaped?” Jack said sharply.  “When?  How?” 

“She, and that whelp Wienand disappeared last night.” 

“So where is she?”

“How should I know? She’s probably hiding in a dark corner somewhere.  That’s what comes when you put females in uniform!” 

“Did she _tell_ you she can’t breathe at that altitude?” Zindair asked.

“If she dies up there, good," Parkerman sneered at Jack.  "She helped hand this planet over to the Goa'uld! I only wish I shot her myself!"

Jack lunged at him.  He was stopped by Jonas and Colomemnon, each grabbing an arm and hauling him back by force, before he could put his hands around Parkerman's throat.  

“Don’t!” Jonas hissed into his ear.  “Langara doesn’t do that any more!”  

Parkerman had pulled back just enough for Jack to see that his lunge had frightened him.

“He’ll face trial soon enough,” Zindair said.  The Goa’uld anger flamed in her eyes.  “He’ll be tried for treason, and he’ll hang.”

“Get him out of here!” Colomemnon ordered the spacers. 

The spacers dragged Parkerman out – not gently.  Jack would not be surprised if Parkerman ‘accidentally fell’ a few times on his way to the Base’s brig.  He wanted to follow the spacers out and help Parkerman fall a few times himself.

“Sam is still up there!” Jack said to Zindair, as soon as the enlisted men were out of the office. 

“I sent two companies to occupy the Base,” Zindair said.  “They have orders to find Sam.”

“If she’s not there, she must have got out,” Jack said. 

“She can’t have got out,” Zindair said.  “The Steen Tor Base has only one access road.”

“She got out!” Jack insisted.  “You said the Steen Tor is like Cheyenne Mountain?”

“Very like Cheyenne Mountain," Jonas said.

“Cheyenne Mountain has air shafts.  Secret egress tunnels. Even an underground base needs air. There are half-a-dozen different routes out of the mountain, other than the main road.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jonas said.   

“You _wouldn’t_ know that.  It’s the most closely guarded secret in the SGC.  But if Cheyenne Mountain has them, the Steen Tor Base will have them too.  ”

“He’s right,” Admiral Colomemon said suddenly.  “When we installed the big gun from the _Bellerophon, the Navy saw the schematics.  They’re not signposted but they’re there.”_

 “Sam knows about Cheyenne Mountain's air shafts," Jack said. "She found one, and she got out."

“Which means she’s been on the mountain all night!”  Zindair pressed her hand across her mouth.  Her eyes went out of focus – talking to Kianna.  “Kianna says a Category 2 storm can blow in on that mountain in less than six hours."

"I'll send the spacers out of the Base immediately," Colomemnon said.

"And talk to the _Hercules!_ " Zindair said. "Tell Captain Fortune to scan the mountain for life signs!”

“I’d like to go out with the spacers,” Jack said. 

“No! Zindair said. “Remember what the altitude did to you last time?”

“Remember what that altitude did to Sam?” he countered.

“I know what it did to her!" Zindair said.  "I was on the train the whole time, remember?”

“She was, Jack,” Jonas said. 

"That altitude will kill you too," Zindair said. "You can't help Sam by getting yourself killed."

“Damn the altitude!” Jack said.  “I can’t just sit here!” 

“You’re not going up there!” Zindair snapped.  “And that’s an order!”

“But…”

“If you try to leave this base I’ll have you arrested and confined to quarters!”

“Sam wouldn’t let you throw your life away,” Jonas said. 

“I’ll send the spacers out in warm-weather gear,” Admiral Colomemnon said. “The Navy will find her!” 

“They _have_ to find her,” Jonas said.  “If she’s been up there all night, her time is running out…”

* * *

 

The storm blew in faster than Sam could ever imagine.  One minute she and Kestiar were walking in sunlight.  Barely five minutes later she was walking in a blizzard of white snow.  The wind was trying to push her off the mountain.  She was soon shivering with cold, even inside her sweaty parka. 

“We can’t go any further!” Kestiar called to Sam. “We’re going to fall off a cliff trying to walk down like this.” 

“We need a place to hunker down.” 

They found a small cave, tucked between a shelf of rock and an overhang of ice.  They dug their way in, knocking snow out of their way, and then shoving themselves inside. 

To their relief, the cave was deeper than it looked from the outside.  It was the width of a queen mattress, but there was room for both of them to crawl inside. 

“What is this?” Sam said.  She shone the flashlight around. 

There were a few wooden crates in here.  Someone had taken the trouble to bring supplies up here. 

Kestiar pulled the top off a crate.  “Dried meat.  Frozen solid obviously.  Batteries.  Cold-weather boots.” 

“Who on earth put them up here?”

“I think this is a shelter for escaped slaves,” Kestiar said.  “It’s a half-way point across the mountain.” 

“Like the Underground Railroad!” Sam said, before realizing the Goa’uld wouldn’t know what that was.

“It’s not a railroad,” Kestiar said.  “There are secret paths up and over the mountains.  The locals help runaway slaves.  It's a diplomatic headache between Kelowna and Tirania - they've fought two wars over slavery.” 

They opened their packs, and shared some of the biscuits and dried meat, washed down with cold tea.  They lay parallel, boots against the opening.   Kestiar put off his flash-light to preserve the battery, and it was soon almost dark. 

“They’ll be looking for us,” Kestiar said.  “They must have noticed we’re missing by now.”

 “Both sides are going to be looking for us,” Sam said.  She was still coughing, and her head hurt, but there was nothing she could do about it, and so no point in complaining about it. 

“General Parkerman can’t hold out for much longer,” Kestiar said.  “His men were already turning against him.”  

“How did he get them to follow him all the way up here?”

“Lies.  Threats.  He told them their way of life was under threat. They believed him.  Frightened people will always listen to extremists.” 

Sam opened her mouth to speak, and that was when Kestiar lunged at her.

His fingers were around her throat, digging through her scarf and coat.  She hit at him with her fists, desperately, but he only tightened his hands tighten around her neck.  His weight was on top of her, suffocating her, drowning her. “Bitch, bitch, bitch…” he hissed at her through drawn lips.   “Die, bitch, die, die…” 

She brought up her knees, kicking him …

A second later, he rolled away. She lashed out with her boot at his face, and lunging for the door, scrambling on hands and knees to get away.  “What the hell was that?”  

“Sam! It's my host!” he shouted.   

She stopped, halfway into the cave entrance.  The vapour clouded in front of her mouth as she panted.  “Kestiar?”

“Go!” he begged her.  She saw that he was curled around himself on the cave floor.  “My host took control!  Go, Sam!  Run!  I’ll fight him as long as I can!” 

“I’m not leaving you here!” 

“All my coterie is dead.  Leave me here. Go! Save yourself!”

“I will not!” Sam scrambled over to him.  “You saved my life!  I will not leave you here!  If you stay here you’ll freeze to death!” 

“I can’t fight my host any more!” 

“Then take me instead!”  Sam shouted down at him. 

“You?”  His eyes were wide, staring up at him.   She could see the difference between Kestiar, and the hate-filled blood-shot eyes of his host, Wienand. 

“Take me!” 

“Do you know what you’re offering?” 

“I know,” she said.  “I’ve hosted a Goa’uld before.  I can do it again.  You and I can walk out of here, together.”    

“He’ll follow us!” 

“We’ll tie his hands up,” she decided.  

“He’ll die.”

“Not if I tie the knot so he can get loose.  He’s not having trouble with the altitude.  _We are!_ ”

It didn’t take long.  She brought out a length of rope, and tied Kestiar’s hands together. She sat back, wiping her nose with her glove, and looking at the knot she had put around Kestiar’s wrists.  He seemed secure. It would take him time to use his knife to cut himself free.  And then he would follow her, and try to kill her. 

“We should kill him," Kestiar said.  

“We can’t.”

“We should, though.  As soon as he is free he will try to kill us both.  It would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn't it?"  

"You don't want to kill him either!"  she said. 

"The System Lords would,” Kestiar said.  “But I am the Fourth Estate.  I’m not killing someone who can’t fight back.  That is not who I am any more.”

“As soon as we’re out of here in that,”  Sam said, nodding at the storm outside, “he’ll never be able to track us.  We'll be okay.  Are you ready?” 

“Are you?”

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay,” Kestiar said.  He shifted himself, sitting up straighter.  “Let's do this. The Fourth Estate takes our hosts through the mouth.  If you’d rather I come through your neck…”

“No!  My mouth is fine, thanks!” she said. 

“Um… You’ll need to come closer…”

She crawled over to him, putting one hand awkwardly on his chest.  She looked down at him, for a second, and then reached down with her mouth for his.   His lips touched hers, and probed them open gently.  She turned her head, opening her mouth.

For a second it felt like a parody of a kiss.  A kiss with a stranger.  She was reminded of Jonas and Kianna, exchanging Zindair between them on the chaise-longue. 

And then something exploded against her teeth.  Something hot and alive was clawing inside her mouth.  She felt it scratching and digging into her tongue and down her throat, and then the slash of pain as it cut into the back of her throat. 

She pulled away instinctively, but it was too late.  Her windpipe was full of a living thing, blocking her airway, and she couldn’t breathe.  She fell to hands and knees in the snow, choking on the blood in her throat. 

She felt it crunching around against her spine, scraping its way into position.  She heard it bite into her brain-stem.  It sounded like someone biting into an apply.

 _I am Kestiar,_ he said, and his presence unfolded like a chrysanthemum into her mind. 

And with Kestiar's mind came the minds of all his coterie.  In one heartbeat, they were all in her mind, Kirkly and West and dozens of others.  She knew their minds, she felt their hearts, their histories, their trust.  She was folded inside the tight circle of a coterie, wrapped in the minds of dozens of other people, and she felt Kestiar's love for them all, and their love for each other. 

Kestiar spasmed inside her.  She tried to pull herself back, but it was too late.  _They were all gone!_   _All_ of Kestiar’s precious hosts, _all gone!_   They were all dead, all of them.  Kestiar was alone again.  All that love, all that intimacy, all that promise, all gone.  She saw through Kestiar's eyes as his hosts died around him, falling dead under the bullets of the firing squad. _  
_

She gasped, her mind reeling, shocked at plunging into so much pain without warning.   _Kestiar!_ she cried with his grief.  

 _I'm sorry!_ Kestiar said, and for a moment she couldn't tell if he was sorry for his hosts, or sorry for burdening her with his own grief. 

Kestiar took control of her motor neurons.  He raised her head, and turned her eyes to look at his Wienand.  Sam fought the instinctive panic at the feeling of someone else controlling her breathing, and let Kestiar move her body as his own.  

Wienand raised his head, gasping for breath.  He blinked his eyes, as if he was coming up from a deep dive underwater.  He turned his head. Hatred rippled across his face. 

“Snake!”  he hissed.  

It was the first time that Sam had ever heard someone use ‘snake’ as an insult.  Jack used it casually, but it was the first time she'd ever realized that the word could be derogatory. 

“I’m sorry,” Kestiar said, using the fine control he now had over Sam’s mouth and voice.  “I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.” 

“You fucking _snake!”_   Wienand rolled furiously, trying to throw himself free in the small cave. 

"Go back where you came from, please!" Kestiar said.  "Go back to the Steen Tor.  Someone will find you.  Don't follow us."  

 _“I’m going to kill you both!”_ Wienand screamed. 

 _Let’s go,_ Sam said. _There is nothing you can say to him._

Kestiar surrendered control of her body.  She pulled her pack onto her shoulders, and picked up the ice-axe in her gloved hand.  She walked out of the cave, into the storm.

As soon as they were out of the shelter, Sam regretted it. 

The wind had picked up just in the time she had been in the cave.  It buffeted her, trying to plaster her flat against the snow.  She pulled the front of her buff over her nose and mouth, and pulled down her goggles.  She was soon using the ice-axe to grip into the ice and drag herself along. 

She had been out on the mountain all night, and almost all day, and she could feel it.  Every step was far harder than it needed to be.  Every few steps she had to pause for a rest, and gasp for breath.  Her lungs and throat burned from the effort of just walking. 

It was Kestiar, she realized; he was drawing his oxygen from her bloodstream. 

She could feel his mind, weighing up her biochemistry. 

And she could feel that she was inadequate.  Not good enough.  She did not measure up.  She was weak.  Her muscles were not as strong, her digestion was not as tough, her cardio-vascular system not as robust.  Kestiar had forgotten the differences between his own beautiful hok’taur and a human. 

He felt her feel his disappointment in her.  A second later she felt his embarrassment as he realized that he was sharing his disappointment with her.  _I’m sorry,_ he said.  _You are a perfectly fine human._

 _Langarans really are the hok’taur,_ she said.  _Zindair was right._

She felt his agreement.  _None of us will ever give up on Langara.  For us, these people are the most precious treasure in the galaxy.  Worth giving up anything, to have hosts like these._

She didn’t have the breath to answer aloud.  She stopped, balancing on a snowy ledge, and coughed into the woollen lining of her buff. She counted her breaths, trying to empty her lungs of as much carbon dioxide as she could.  Six, seven, eight, and then she forced herself to walk on. 

 _There are things that I can do to help you,_ Kestiar said.  _I can readjust your biochemistry, and keep some of the fluid out of your lungs.  I can make your breathing deeper as well._

 _Go ahead,_  she said.  

She felt him descend from her consciousness slightly.  She could still feel him inside her, but she couldn't see what he was seeing.  All she received from him was a turbulent view of movement.  He was doing things that she did not have the senses to see, as if he was trying to describe the sound of a hormone, or the smell of a blood pressure reading. 

 _What is this?_   Kestiar withdrew slightly.  She felt his puzzlement. 

“What?” she coughed.    

_I think it’s a tumour. Or a worm?  
_

_A tumour?_ She staggered to a stop, collapsing back to a sitting position in the snow.  The weight of her pack was almost too much to bear. 

_Not a worm.  It’s just a blob of cells.  Oh!  Wait!  I know what it is!  
_

_What is it?_

_It's a blastocyst.  You’re pregnant._

Even in her exhausted state, both hands flew to her stomach. _I can’t be pregnant! I’m on the injection!_   

No, Sam realized; she was _overdue_ for the injection!  She had been planning to get it as soon as she got home from Langara.  She had even discussed it with Jack, the very first night she had been in TickBerry Terrace. 

_It's not completely embedded yet.  I can dislodge it for you if you don't want it …_

_NO!_   She pressed both hands against her stomach.  _It’s mine!_  

Kestiar paused, trying to read her meaning through their link.  _It might not survive anyway._

_Don’t say that!_

_Sam, it's not even ten days old yet.  And it is also drawing oxygen from your bloodstream.  
_

_Don’t let my baby die!_  

She snarled inside the folds of the buff, pressing both fists into her stomach.  The gloves were too thick and her hands were half-frozen, but she clenched her fists. 

 _I’ll make a plan,_ Kestiar promised.  _I’ll redistribute some of your blood supply down there.  
_

_Do it._

_But if you want to keep it alive we really, really need to get down this mountain ..._

Which meant that Sam would have to get up again.  She forced herself to her feet.  She had been sitting for a surprisingly long time, and her feet felt frozen cold.  She wobbled, and trudged forward.

_What does it look like?_

She felt Kestiar concentrate, but she couldn’t make much sense of what he was trying to show her.  All she received from him was a turbulent view of movement. 

 _I think it is female,_ Kestiar said. 

 _Her name is Jade!_ Sam said, suddenly intensely proud.  She was carrying Jack’s child!   _Jade, after Jack’s grandmother!_

 _She is a very busy little thing_ , Kestiar said.  _  
_

_She would be!_ A horrible thought occurred to her. _Kestiar!_   _Am I carrying a harcesis?_

She felt Kestiar’s amusement. _Sam, i_ _f creating a harcesis was that easy, this planet would be full of them!_   

_I did wonder about that._

_That was one of many lies that the System Lords told their children.  There is a reason we have named all our warships after demi-gods!_

She needed to rest again.  She sat down in the snow, gasping for breath.  She felt as if her whole life had been reduced to just a single gasping lung.  She counted her breaths again – five, six, seven, eight – and then rolled upright, digging with both gloves into the snow to pull herself upright. 

She pushed up the sleeve of her coat, and checked the heading of the compass.  She held it up in front her eyes, but the tiny needle was too small to see.  The snow immediately settled on the glass.  She brushed it away with one thick glove-tip. 

 _South,_ she said.  _We need to walk that way.  
_

_Is that not upward again?_

_I don’t know._

_I think that way is going up again.  I think we need to go right.  
_

_Do you know where we are, Kestiar?_

_No. But I can sense naquadah in the rocks.  I think we have our backs to the peak.  
_

His guess was as good as hers.   Sam sucked in a deep breath, feeling the ice crunching painfully in her strained lungs.  She coughed into her buff again, and pushed herself to her feet. She brushed the snow out of her eyes with her gloves, and stared through the gloom.  

 _Here we go again,_ she said.

At the bottom of the slope to the right, the rocks in front of her rose from the ice like a half-buried spine.  It was a knife-edge ridge, cutting down through the fallen snow.  The drop on the other side looked like it was about thirty or forty feet.  But if she  climbed down the ridge, it would take her down… down… down ... to that grey patch down there. 

Was that stone, or ice?  It looked flat.  She could see it through the haze and falling snow.  She blinked her eyes, trying to see. 

 _Down the ridge,_ Kestiar said, looking through her eyes and making his vote. 

She started cutting along the edge of the ridge, heading downhill, digging in the ice-axe as she went.  She kept in the narrow path between the crest of the ridge and the drop.  Her crampons were gritting into ice now, hugging the side of the mountain.  

She had to stop again, and breathe deeply, clinging to the stone.  A few breaths – she counted them – four, five, six.  She pushed herself into movement again. 

Wienand was on her before she even saw him, looming out of the snow ahead of her like a yeti.  She saw the fury and hate on his face as he closed in on her. 

“I’ll kill you!”

His knife swung at her face, but missed

She pulled away just in time, her exhaustion slowing her movements like glue.  She tried to hold him off with the ice-axe, but he took the axe in the padding of his chest, and grabbed it from her.  He swung it at her, but missed her again.  The blade clattered against the ice wall, and he had to stop and catch his balance. 

She backed away, going back along the ridge, holding her balance against the rocks with one hand.  Slippery grey rocks grated under her crampons.  “Wienand, wait!” 

“I’m going to kill you!” he said, pointing the ice-axe at her.  “You scum sucking parasite!  I’m going to kill her, _and_ you!”

She backed away, terrified.  She could feel the yawning distance hanging at her side.  One slip, and she would fall.  Wienand pushed forward, following her into the narrow ledge on the side of the ridge. 

“Come back, you parasite!  I’m going to kill you – slowly!” 

She couldn’t breathe enough to run .  She climbed up, backwards.  She couldn’t breathe, and red spots fluttered in her vision.  She felt the crunch of ice under her.  Why was she climbing uphill, she asked herself.  She wanted to go down!

But Wienand was behind her, and she could only go where she was driven.  Her breath burned in her throat with desperation and exhaustion.  She retreated up the narrow knife edge of the ledge. 

The rocks there were set in ice.  Her crampons grated against the rock. 

He came after her, and showed her the ice-axe.  

“Bitch!” he said, and lunged for her. 

The next second, there was a sudden crack, and a deep rasping rumble.  The ice of the ledge gave way under his weight all at once, like a collapsing shelf.  She saw Wienand's eyes bug out as his balance shifted.  He tried to grab the rocks at his side but he was too late.  The ice gave up under the weight of a grown man.  The rocks shifted suddenly. 

Wienand collapsed onto his side.  He tried to dig the ice-axe into the ice, but it just crumbled away under him, falling under him, and then he was sliding over the edge. 

It wasn’t a long way down, but it was enough. 

Sam let her shivering legs fold under her like stilts.  She clung to the rock face with her gloves.  The sudden explosion of hatred and violence had driven all the strength out of her. 

_Sam?_

“I’m okay,” she panted, speaking aloud.  Her throat burned but she needed to hear the sound of her own voice. 

When she had recovered her breath, she climbed down from the ledge, picking her way down carefully, stopping every few minutes to sit agains the rock wall and pant.  When she reached Wienand, she sat down next to him to catch her breath. 

Wienand was dead.  Even a _hok'taur_ could not survive a broken neck.  His skin was already turning porcelain-white.  Sam sat next to his corpse, looking at him, and wondering how long he would stay here, like George Mallory on Everest, or if he would lie here on the Steen Tor under the sky forever.  

 _Sam,_ Kestiar said. _You need to get up now.  The wind is picking up._      

She forced her eyes open.  Her eyelashes were freezing.  The ice from her breath crackled inside her buff. 

“I don’t know where we are, Kestiar,” she said.  “I can’t.” 

_You must.  We need you to get up.  Me and Jade._

The baby.  She had Jack’s blood in her; a tiny determined dot of Jack’s DNA. 

If she did not get up, Jack would never know he had a daughter.  For Jade, and for Jack, she had to get up.  She had to force her eyes open, force her hands to reach out, force herself into the pain. 

 _For Jade._   She picked up the fallen ice-axe from where it lay next to Wienand’s corpse, and pulled herself upright against the wall. She had enough strength to do this.  She would carry all three of them down through the snow. 

 _I can do this,_ she said.

 _You can do this!_   Kestiar agreed with her instantly.  

_Check on Jade._

_I’ll watch Jade!  Come on, Sam, let’s get off this mountain together!_

She pushed herself into walking.  One step in front of the other.  Her body felt too heavy for her; the exhaustion dragged down each foot. 

Kestiar coaxed her along with encouragement at every step; praise and pep talk, and promises of the hot acorn coffee they would drink as soon as they got down.  Sam didn’t like acorn coffee, but right now it sounded like the most wonderful hot drink in the universe – warm and rich and strong. 

_You can do this, Sam!_

Away from the lee of the ridge, the wind blasted down with full force.  The mountain was a hell of snow and ice, biting at her skin even through the musk-ox coat.  She couldn’t feel her feet any more, or her hands, she couldn’t see her boots through the gathering darkness. 

_You’re doing great!  You’re tough, Sam.  You can do this!_

She sensed that she was walking downhill down a gently slope, but  each step was a struggle, a fight against the wind.  Each leg had to be hauled up and across, and then planted down into the snow again.  Every step was hard work – worse because she could see nothing of what she was walking on, beneath the snow. 

She could only hope that she was walking in the right direction.  She had a sense that she was walking downhill, but on a strange mountain with such low visibility she was afraid that she was going to step blindly off a cliff at any moment.  She would be falling before she even knew it. 

 _Wait!  Stop!_   Kestiar called frantically. 

Sam sat down in the snow, letting the ice-axe drop.  The wind tried to push itself into her lungs, freezing cold.  She could just see through the ice on her eyelashes, but not far enough.  _Kestiar?_  

_I think she moved!_

She didn’t have to ask who ‘she’ was.  _Is she okay?_

_I don’t see her … She’s come loose.  Wait… There she is.  She came loose, but she latched on again._

_She came loose?_   Sam felt suddenly terrified. 

She felt Kestiar pull away, choosing his words. 

_She’s safe, for now.  But she’s not getting as much blood as she needs right now.  She's literally just a blob of cells right now.  She’s fragile._

_Do something, Kestiar!_

_There isn’t enough oxygen in your bloodstream for all three of us. And your lungs are filling with fluid ... Hmm._

_What are you planning?_

_I will give her my oxygen._

She felt Kestiar make his decision, but she recoiled.  Jade was precious, but so was Kestiar.  He was alive, and filled with feeling and memories and humour.   

_You’ll die!_

Kestiar’s mind was sombre.  _You love your child.  I have known love.  And I have been loved in return.  Love is a treasure that few Goa’uld have ever known.  
_

_You can’t sacrifice yourself!_

_My coterie is dead.  I have nothing left to live for.  All that I loved, all that I cherished, is gone.  I will make sure that Jade lives, instead.  My mind is made up, Sam._

Sam closed her eyes in despair.  She pressed her hands to her stomach, through the coat.  _Jade,_ she thought, miserably. 

_It’s a simple matter of opening and closing some capillaries.  There isn’t enough oxygen in your blood for three, but there may be enough for two._

_I will keep us alive,_ Sam promised.  _All three of us!_

 _You concentrate on walking.  I will concentrate on Jade for as long as I can._  

Sam pushed herself to her feet in the snow.  It was getting dark, but she was determined.  She would press on. 

She pulled her right boot up, and dragged it out ahead of her.  She thrashed in the snow until her weight was above it. Stopped to catch her breath, sucking desperately for air.  And then struggled again to pull up the left boot. 

Her body felt too heavy for her; the exhaustion dragged down each foot.  _For Jade,_ she told herself, as she dragged each foot forward.  _For Jade,_ she said, when each footstep seemed as if it must be the last one. 

The night closed in around her.  She was walking in the dark.  The storm had closed in.  She thought she was walking on rock covered by snow, but she could see nothing.  She hoped she was not walking off a cliff, but all she could see was snow and darkness.  She could only walk. 

She sat down without even realizing that she was going to.  She felt tired and warm.  Just a few minutes to rest, she told herself…

 _Sam, Kestiar said.  You can’t sit here!  You need to get up now._  

“I can’t,” she whispered, and the wind whipped her voice away into the night. 

_You have to get up.  Come on, Sam.  Get up._

 “I can’t.”  She forced her eyes open.  Her eyelashes were freezing.  “I can’t.  I can’t go on.  I can’t breathe.  My hands are freezing.  I don’t know where we are.  I can’t.” 

_You can.  You must.  We need you to get up.  Me and Jade.  We need you to get up, Sam._

_Jade?_

The baby.  Jack’s baby.  _Her_ child.  _For Jade_ , she told herself.  If she did not get up, she would never see her daughter.  She forced herself to stand up.

 How many hours had she been walking in the dark?  She couldn’t remember. 

She had been on the mountain for two days and a whole night. 

How long had anyone stayed alive on Everest?  Two days?  How long had Beck Weathers been up there that night in ’96?  It didn’t matter anyway.  Nothing mattered.

 _Kestiar?_ she said, but he did not answer.  She knew he was unconscious, but it didn’t matter.  

She didn’t have breath to talk, not even to frame the words with her frozen lips, but at each step she repeated the words in her mind.  _For Jade._

She was dying, and she knew it, but her mind had fallen to peace.  She floated inside a warm bubble of her own, strangely euphoric.  The only purpose left in this peaceful world was to keep putting one heavy in front of the other.  She was going to walk like this into eternity, and she knew it, and she felt content with her fate.  

_For Jade._

She pulled up her left boot.  Stopped to breathe again, surprised by how peaceful and warm she felt.  She could sit down and sleep, she thought – just for a while…

 _For Jade_. She could not sleep. 

Right boot. 

_For Jade._

Down…  Down…  And down. 

* * *

 

Jack was still sitting where he had been sitting all day.  He had sat down on a bench on the porch outside the Gravity Point HQ, and he had been staring silently up at the mountain above him, his elbows on his knees, waiting.  

A few hours ago a bumptious adjutant had tried to move him away from his place, and Jack had offloaded some of his fear and his frustration on him.    He’d driven the idiot away with an explosion of senior-officer rage, hitting his full volume and yelling. 

The Langarans left him alone after that. 

The grey light died as night fell.  The troops played their version of Taps.  They struck the stooping-kestrel flag of Kelowna. Jack ignored them all.  He sat huddled in a borrowed coat, staring up at the invisible mountain, lost in the night.  It wasn’t snowing yet here, but he could smell it on the wind.  The wind blasted ice-cold.  Not even stars broke the darkness. 

Sam was up there, he thought.  He was not leaving her here, on this planet.  He would sooner die than lose Carter.  

He heard the crunch of footsteps, and the shadow of the lights of the porch change.  “Jack?”

It was Kianna’s voice. 

Jack looked up, instantly alert.  He searched Kianna’s face, looking for any hint of good news; anything at all.  “You found her?” 

“Not yet,” Jonas said. 

“No,” Kianna said. 

Kianna and Jonas both stepped down off the porch, their steps crunching on the gravel.  There was a sombre look in both their faces. Jack’s blood ran cold.  Something was wrong.  More wrong than it had been an hour ago.

“What’s wrong?”  he asked. 

Kianna sat down next to him on the edge of the step.  She smoothed down her trouser-skirt with her hands; a gesture which reminded him of Sam. 

“The storm is coming down full force,” Kianna said.  “And it’s dark.” 

“I can see it.” 

“And there’s still no sign of Sam, or Wienand.  We’ve been looking for nearly twenty hours.” 

“She’s out there somewhere,” Jack said. 

 “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Zindair has called off the search.”  

“What?” Jack flared up angrily. 

“The storm has come down too hard.  The search parties themselves will be in danger, if they stay up there much longer.  One man has already fallen and broken three ribs.  Zindair has called them all back into the Steen Tor.”

“Sam is out there!”

“If she’s been out there for two nights, in this storm, then she’s not coming back.  No human can survive that mountain, alone, without shelter.” 

“You need to scan with the ship’s sensors!” 

“We have.  And the _Hercules_ is picking up no life signs.  Captain Fortune searched the whole mountain.  There’s no sign of Sam.”

“You can’t just leave her up there!”

“I’m sorry, Jack.  If there was anything else we could do, we would do it.  She’s gone, Jack.  I’m sorry, Jack.  I’m so sorry.”

Jack put his head in his hands. 

“Go away,” he said, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice.

“Zindair will send up parties as soon as the storm clears, to recover her body for burial…” 

 _“Just go away!”_   Jack bellowed angrily. 

His fists were knotted, trying to hold himself back for shoving her away from him bodily.  Instead, he leaped to his feet, and marched away, and dropped to his knees in the darkness. 

He sat there on the gravel with his head in his hands, for a long time. 

It was some time before he realized that Jonas was standing with him, silently watching him in the half-light.  Jack sat up. 

Jonas watched him.  Waiting quietly.

“I _can’t_ just leave her there,” Jack said. 

“I know,” Jonas said. 

“I’m going up there to find her myself.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jonas said. 

“Zindair doesn’t want anyone going up there.”

“Zindair doesn’t tell _me_ what to do."

"She'll be mad at you."

"She's my symbiote, not my boss.  I'm going.  So, where _are_ we going?”

“We’ve tried all the smart ways to find Sam."

"Yes?"

"Now it’s time to try the dumb way.”

“Right,” Jonas agreed.  “No.  I don’t understand.” 

“You said there were people who live up there?  On the Steen Tor.”

“Yeah,” Jonas said.  “Naquadah prospectors, fur trappers, escaped slaves from Tirania.  They’re tough people.  Even the Ori left them alone.”  

“So where do they trade their naquadah?  Or rather … where do they get acorn coffee?”

“Acorn coffee?”  Jonas stared at him.  “You don’t like acorn coffee.” 

“Nope, but you Langarans are all mad for it!  If you find the place where they get their coffee, you’ll find someone who knows the Steen Tor, better than the Union Navy ever will.  They'll know every rock of that mountain.”

Jack had spent enough time in rural Minnesota in midwinter to know how country people stood together. If people really lived up there on the Steen Tor, someone would know where to look for Sam - and they would not be driven off the mountain by the storm. 

"Find the local trading post," Jack said, "And talk to the people who actually live up there." 

Jonas ran his palm over his face.  “Hmm…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t know,” Jonas said.  “But I do know who to ask...”

Half an hour later, they were on their way, dressed for a mountain expedition. 

It was the first time Jack had seen Jonas exercise his name as Magister of Kelowna – and the first time Jack realized how impressive the title of ‘Magister’ actually was.    If the Magister of Kelowna wanted to ask a few questions about the culture of the Steen Tor folk, even a Regimental Sergeant Major found that he had time to stop and chat.  If the Magister of Kelowna wanted to borrow a truck for a high-altitude experiment,  the lieutenant in charge of the motor pool not only _lent_ him one, but actually fueled it for him. 

“You’ll have to drive,” Jonas said.  “Catch!”   He tossed the car keys to Jack, who caught them out of the air.

“It’s your planet, you can drive,” Jack said.  He threw the keys back. 

“You’re going to let the guy with epilepsy drive?  Hell no!  Kianna and Zindair will freak out.”  He threw the keys back through the air. 

“I thought you didn’t mind making Zindair mad at you?” 

“That’s not making her mad, that's _frightening_ both of my wives for no reason!"

"Wives?" Jack echoed.

" _You’re_ driving. I’ll navigate." 

Jonas tossed the keys back, and this time Jack caught them. 

They got into the truck, and fired it up.  They were bumping out the main gate a few minutes later.  The sentries saluted the Magister.  Either Zindair had not been told that her husband/host was leaving, or she was letting him go. 

The Langaran truck was like a museum piece.  The gears were all in the wrong places, and the gas pedal felt like a bag of gravel.  Jack swung the truck out of the base onto the main road.  He hoped that they wouldn’t run into a Langaran main battle tank, coming down the road in the other direction.  He levelled out the truck, following the compass needle stuck into the centre of the steering wheel, and accelerated carefully.  Under any other circumstances, this pig would be fun to drive, he thought. 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve heard you call yourself an epileptic,” he said.    

“Well, technically, I’m a precognitive, not an epileptic," Jonas shrugged.  "But the effect is the same.  I don’t know when a vision is going to happen, or where.  Kianna, Zindair and Dirk Virago got together, and got my driver's license rescinded.”

“Militarily useful, though.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Jonas said.  “There are times I think it makes everything worse.”

“Nothing the Goa’uld does ends well,” Jack said. 

As soon as he said it, he realized what he’d said.  “Not _your_ Goa’uld,” he added. 

“I know,” Jonas said. 

"Wives, Jonas? Really?"

"Wives," Jonas agreed.  "Both of them.  There are three of us in my marriage." 

Jack could feel the tyres with their snow-chains slipping and then griping on the road.  A driver less experienced with snow conditions would have hard work on this road.  Even he was having trouble, fishing with the long Langaran gear-lever to keep the car moving uphill. 

“I’m sorry for how everything has turned out," Jonas said.  

Jack glanced at Jonas.  The glossy smile was gone.  His face was half-lit by the light of the dashboard.  "Don’t mention it, kid.  Best laid plans, and all.”

“I just …” Jonas waved his hand.  “I just wanted you guys to see how far we’ve come, what we’ve been doing.  I wanted to introduce you to Zindair and Kianna properly.  I hoped you would be happy for us!  I _never_ meant for this to happen.”

“Parkerman's behaviour isn't your fault, Jonas!” 

“Yeah, but plenty of things _have_ been my fault.  Doctor Jackson’s accident… Anubis coming to Langara.  My parents… Now _this.”_     

“What have your parents got to do with this?”  

“It’s…” Jonas looked away through the window at the night.  “Nothing.”  

“Hey!” Jack said, taking his hand off the gear stick to poke Jonas in the shoulder.  “You were nine!  It wasn’t your fault!”

 “What if it _was?”_   Jonas stared out of the window.  “What if I said something stupid.  What if I said too much … in class, in the playground… and then word got back to the BSS...”

“I think you’re over-estimating how much people listen to nine-year-olds.” 

“I think you’re _under-_ estimating the BSS.  There was one informer for every six citizens back then!  Everyone was spying on everyone else!  You never knew who was listening!  I’ve spent my whole life wondering who informed on my parents, who sold them out to the BSS.  Wondering if it was _me.”_

“Maybe it _was_ your fault,” Jack said. 

“That’s not very reassuring.” 

"There's only one way to find out," Jack said.  "Open those files you mentioned, and read 'em." 

"And what if it _was_ my fault?  What if I caused their deaths?  How will I live with myself if I killed my own parents."

Jack slowed down the car.  The wind-shield wipers were banging the snow away, but he wanted to slow down. Concentrating on the icy road and his next words were taking up too much of his attention. 

“My son’s death was my fault,” Jack said, carefully, without looking at Jonas.  “He died because I forgot to put my  gun in my safe.  It would have taken me two seconds to lock the gun away, and I didn’t do it.  His death was my fault.  And for that, I will never forgive myself.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Jonas staring at him in the half-dark. 

“How do you get over it?” Jonas asked.   

“I don't.  I can't.  Sometimes I can forget for a while.  But it's always with me.  But here’s the thing, Jonas!  I don't _have_ to forgive myself!  I don't _have_ to just get over it!   It's never going to be okay.  But I don't have to forgive myself for the unforgivable.  I carry my guilt with me.  It's part of me now. I've learned to live with it.”

Jonas thought about that.

“If I were you,” Jack said,  “I _would_ open those files, and find out what happened to your parents.” 

Jonas looked up, and out through the window.  His eyes seemed far away. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They went bumping up the roads, winding deeper and deeper into the mountains.  Jonas’s name, and his connection to Zindair, got them through several cordons.  They left the main roads, and followed a winding track that went up, and up.  They were far from lights, houses, and street signs.  Jonas followed the map carefully, giving warnings of turns and tight bends. 

At last, they drove into a yard, lit by golden windows.  Jack pulled up the car, and they got out. 

The cold bit at them immediately, and Jack wrapped his scarf around his nose and mouth.  “Ahh, that’s cold,” he said. 

Jonas led the way across the yard, and up to a door, lit by welcoming lights.  The door had glass panels, and there was light inside.  A bell over the door jingled as Jonas pushed the door open.  The warmth and light met them like a welcoming blanket, and then the door shut out the storm behind them.    

“That’s better!”  Jack said, unwrapping his scarf.  He turned around, and faced the room.

He was in a small store.  The walls were built from timber, like Jack’s own cabin in Minnesota, but they had the steep sloped pitch the Langarans seemed to like so much.  He could see fishing tackle, cans of kerosene, cans of food, furs.   

The store was empty, except for the woman behind the counter.  Her knitting needles were frozen in mid-air, as she stared at them. 

Jonas’s face lit up in a sunny smile.  “Hey!” he said, cheerfully.  “Cold out there tonight?” 

“You’re not from around here, neh?”  the woman behind the counter said, standing up. 

She looked like another Mrs Mattis; another Langaran woman who could break an Air Force General in half with one hand.   Jack didn’t know whether to run way, or flirt with her.  He _liked_ tough women.

“No, we are not,” Jonas said.  “My friend and I came up from the City.”   

“This isn’t the night to be on the roads.”  The woman took a second look at Jonas.  “You know, you really look like the Magister of Kelowna.” 

“Actually, I am the Magister of Kelowna,” Jonas said. 

“Are you?”  she asked, surprised. 

“Yes,” Jonas said.  “Jonas Quinn.  Pleased to meet you.  This is Jack O’Neill, of SG1.  From Earth.” 

“I’m Tybillia.”  The shopkeeper took his hand, and shook it over her counter-top.   "I like’m the Fourth Estate!”  she said.  “Where would Langara be if it weren’t for the Fourth Estate?  _Hallowed be the Fuck You,_ that’s where we’d be!”

“You can say that again,” Jonas said, glancing at Jack.   

“What’s the Magister of Kelowna and a Tau’Ri doing in my shop, on a night like this?  Wrong time of year for a hunt.”

Jack coughed at the idea of going on a hunting trip, up a mountain taller than the Himalayas. 

“Actually, we need your help,” Jonas said. 

“My help?”

“There’s a Tau’ri woman and a soldier lost on the mountain.  They’ve been out there since last night.” 

“The woman is my fiancee,” Jack said.  “Sam Carter, also SG1.” 

“I’ve heard’m of her!” Tybillia said.  “She’s up here?” 

“She walked out of the Steen Tor Base last night,” Jonas said.  

“She escaped through the air shafts,” Jack said.  “The Army has been looking for her all day, but they’ve had no luck.  They don’t know all the paths over the Steen Tor.”

Her eyes were immediately wary.  “You think we do, neh?”

“I know you hide runaway slaves in the mountains," Jonas said.   "Because that’s what mountain people do.  You help runaway slaves over the mountain from one way.  And you help political dissidents, and deserters from the Kelownan Army the other way?  Right?” 

“We don’t have truck’n with the Army.” 

“Look, we don’t care,” Jack said.  He leaned his hands on the counter.  “I need your help."

“I’m the Magister of _Kelowna_ , not Magister of the Army,” Jonas said.  “I really don’t care what you trade with Tirania.  After the Union next week, _none_ of it will matter any more, ever again.” 

“All I want is to find Sam Carter,” Jack said. 

Tybillia looked between them both.  “I would not be telling’en you this, if you weren’t the Magister…”

“Yes?” Jonas said. 

“I got’m a wireless here.  And a map.  And yeah, I know all the paths over the Steen Tor.  Some of the old tunnels too, from Before the Base was built.  We use them to get past the Border Patrols.  Slaves the one way, deserters the other way.  Come here, I show’em you!”

She brought out a map from her office, and spread it out on the table, pinning down the corners with old coffee cups.  Jack and Jonas joined her, looking down at the folds of paper. 

Tybillia's finger traced out a path. 

“Steen Tor base is here, under this peak,” she said.  “This here is the barrel of the big gun the Navy put in there a couple years ago.  This here’s an air shaft.  Leads straight down into the Base, but you’ll not open’en _that_ from the outside.  Big steel hatches inside, that only open outward.” 

“How do you know?” Jonas asked.

 _“Everyone_ knows!” Tybillia explained. 

“Let me guess?” Jack said.  “When they built the base, they cut off all the best hunting ground around here.”

“You know _that_ right,” she agreed.

Jack shot a look at Jonas, and dropped him a wink.

“Air shaft comes up here,” she said, tapping her finger on the map.  “South Face, leads down to Long Gap Col.  This is Dead Horse Glacier, it goes downhill nearly two hundred pylons.  Stonedoor Cairn is here.  Pike’s Trail over Dead Horse runs this way.  Ushabti Balcony here.  The old people say Thanos camped here one time and you can still find old _ushabtiu_ in the ice.” 

None of those place names were marked on the map, Jack noticed.  They were places known only to the locals.

“I know someone who digs on Pike’s Trail,” Tybillia said.  “I can call him on the wireless, see if he’s seen anything.”

“Will he be home now?” 

“Nobody goes out on a night like this,” Tybillia said.  She glanced at them.  “Nobody but lost city people…” 

She brought out an old radio; all wire and wood.  It had a small boxy speaker, and a central set with twiddlesome little dials and knobs, and a speaker on a stand like a sportcaster’s. 

Jack boggled at the sight of it.  He remembered his Irish grandfather having a set just like this one in his basement when he was a kid.  Langara was like stepping back into the 1940s… or how the 1940s would have been if the aliens really had landed at Roswell.

“I can sometimes hear the ha’taks from here,” Tybillia said.  “We’ll get your fiancee back, don’t you worry’en!” 

Jack listened to them talk back and forth, the patter of almost illegible mountain patois.  Crackling voices spoke from the distance, spread all over the mountain. 

Someone said that Rogton was home, but wouldn’t put on his wireless until midnight to hear the weather report.  Someone else offered to go up if Rogton didn’t respond.  Someone else offered their dogs to help Rogton’s dogs.  A late-night customer came in to sell a few furs, looking for warm coffee and news, and left again in a hurry as soon as he heard that someone was lost on the Steen Tor.  In an hour, the news was buzzing back and forth over the mountain, in each valley and each hidden cabin. 

Jack knew that he was seeing the truth strength of this planet, this world.  Me and my brother against my cousin, he thought.  But me and my cousin against the _whole damn universe…_ No wonder the Ori had made no impression on these stubborn people, he thought.  

It seemed an age before another voice came on the wireless.  “RogtonOneFour here.  I hear’em you been looking for me?  Over.” 

Jack jumped, but Tybillia was there.  She leaned forward and thumbed the Talk toggle, and spoke into the microphone.    

“Hey, Rogsy, it’s Tibby at the Pack Shack here!”  he said.  “There’s an alien woman lost on the mountain.  A Tau’ri.  Her name is Sam Carter.” 

The radio crackled.  “Hey, Tibby!  Lost?” 

“From the Steen Tor Base,” Tybillia said.  “She escaped from Parkerman’s rebels by climbing out the air shaft to the South Face.  We think she came down Long Gap Col, and she’s somewhere between Stonedoor Cairn and Ushabti Balcony… Have you seen her, over.”

“I’ve not seen anyone up here all day, Tibby, and the dogs have’en neither.  But if she came out of the Long Gap Col she won’t be anywhere near Pike’s trail.” 

“We know the air shaft comes out over Long Gap.”

“She won’t have gone that way.  She’ll have gone down by that big ridge that looks like a cat, the one just topside of Pike’s.  Know the one?”

“This way, turned right here. 

“How do you know?”

“Because lost folks always do,”  Rogton said.  His voice was calm and quiet, crackling on the air through the speaker.  “I don’t know, something about that col just makes people want to turn right.  Can’t see Pike’s from the Col.  Yeah, I reckon I _know’m_ just where she is.  I’ll whistle up the dogs and go see’em.”

“Stay safe up there, Rogsy.  Pike’s Trail is slippery this time of year.”    

“Weather’s not so bad this side’n.   And I have’em dogs, neh?  Wait on the line.  I call’em back if I not find’en her.  Rogton out.” 

Tybillia put the handset back on it’s hook, and turned the volume of the speaker up. 

“We Tor folks stand together,” she said.  “He’ll find her,  he knows every rock of the Steen Tor.”

And then, there was nothing to do but wait. 

And wait. 

Jack sat by the wireless set, staring at the speaker with his jaw in his fists, his elbows on the desk.  He listened to the crackling voices on the airwaves over Kelowna.  The shop-keeper kept her store open for them, and banked more wood on her fire, and brought out a tray of steaming acorn coffee that was only tepid due to the altitude. 

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, and looked up.  "Jack?" 

Jonas stood over him, looking down at him.  And then Jonas dipped his head, dropping control over his own muscles, and when he met Jack's eyes again it was Zindair looking down at him. 

"Jack," she said.

Jack was shocked to find the Goa'uld here.  "Zindair!  What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I had to come," she said.  "Calling off the search for Sam was breaking my heart.  And I know how much Jonas loves Sam.  I can't risk soldiers' lives to save her, but Jonas and I can risk our own."

No wonder Zindair had let her husband/host leave the Base so easily!  Zindair had been with him all along!  ' _She's my symbiote not my boss,_ Jonas had said. 

Zindair sat down next to Jack, inhabiting Jonas's body comfortably.  "Jack, we _will_ find her.  I don't know how, but I know we will." 

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Jonas has seen her," she said.  "He's seen her, in visions that haven't happened yet.  You and Sam will have a long and happy life ahead of you _._   She is going to be okay.  Don’t lose hope, Jack!"

Jack would never have believed he would _ever_ find reassurance from the presence of a Goa'uld, but there was absolute certainty in Zindair's voice. He reached out his hand and gripped Jonas by the shoulder tightly.  Jonas/Zindair reached out and gripped his shoulder back.  

For a long moment, the Goa'uld and the Tau'Ri shared a a wordless exchange of strength.

Then there was nothing to do but wait, and listen to the wind trying to loosen the shingles of the roof. 

The storm was settling down hard, as the night wound slowly toward dawn.  Even if he went out there, he did not know the mountain.  He would tumble off a cliff himself.  He didn’t have a clue where to even start looking.  

They waited.

* * *

 

Sam didn’t know where she was any more.  She moved feebly. 

Everything hurt.  Her hands, her face, her lungs.  Breathing hurt but she was forced to breathe.  Movement hurt, but she was being moved anyway.  She tried to push the source of the movement away, wanting them to leave her alone.  She wanted to slip back into the soft warmth of sleep. 

“Easy now, we’re nearly there…”

A human voice, male.  She’d heard it before, but she couldn’t remember where, or how.  And she could hear the yipping and yapping of dogs. 

She forced her eyes open but she could see nothing.  She was being moved, because she was being carried, but where.  Where was she?  Who was she?  What was going on?  She tried to complain, but nothing came out. 

“We’re nearly there now, and then we’ll have a cup of warm soup down you, and get those frozen clothes off.  Nearly there now... here we go.  Let’s get this door open…” 

She saw a light in the distance.  She forced her eyes open, and suddenly the light was too bright, and the warmth was so much it was scalding hot.  She flinched as she was carried into the brilliance. 

And there was Jack, staring at her.  She moved as she saw him.  “Jack…” she whispered. 

Jack was throwing himself at her, his arms going around her, crushing her to him, burying his face in her hair. 

“There’s my baby!  There’s my baby girl!” he gasped into her shoulder.  The man carrying her let her go, let Jack take her weight. 

“I’m all right!”  she whispered through numb lips. 

She could feel Jack shaking, but she could also feel her own weakness.  She let him pick her up off the floor, his arms around her.  There were other people around her, and dogs leaping.  She found herself in a chair, and found her clothes being stripped off, and she was covered in a pile of furs and blankets, and her hands and feet were stroked in warm water.  It all happened so fast her mind whirled.  A stout woman was rubbing the strength back into her hands. 

 “No frostbite, there’s a wonderment!  You look all right to me.  Any longer out there and you would be in a bad way right now.  You sit tight there, I’ll be fetch’em a hot mash for you.” 

Jack didn’t let her go for one second.  “There you are!” he breathed into her face. 

“I’m all right!” she whispered. 

“I thought I’d lost you!” 

“Never,” she promised.  “Never.”

Jonas was here now.  He put a warm mug into her hands, that she nearly dropped because her muscles were too weak.  Jack rescued it, and raised it to her lips.  She drank from his hand.  It felt scalding hot as it went down her throat, and blazed inside her stomach.  Pins and needles were spreading through her hands and her feet, and over her cheeks. 

Consciousness came back slowly.  She was safe.  Frostbitten, frozen, bruised and weak, but she was safe.  She had survived the Steen Tor.  She had no signs of frostbite, no signs of coughing.  She was going to be okay. 

 _Kestiar?_   she said, closing her eyes, but there was no answer.  She could still feel him there, alive but unconscious. 

“Jack,” she whispered. 

“I’m right here, Sam.”  He brushed her hair away from her face with his fingers. 

“I have to tell you something.” 

“It doesn’t matter, Sam.  Nothing matters.  You’re safe now.”

“Jack,” she said, staring into his eyes.  She touched his face.  She didn’t want to see his reaction but he had to know.  “Jack, I’m carrying a Goa’uld.” 

 _“What?”_ He couldn’t stop himself; he recoiled.  She felt him pull back, and horror crossed his face; instinctive disgust. 

“Jack!”  She reached a hand out of the blankets for him.  “He saved my life!”   

“A Goa’uld saved your life?” he echoed.  She saw him force himself to relax, and come back to her.   He pressed his hands around her face, stroking her hair, _cherishing_ her.  

“He’s unconscious,” she said.  “Parkerman shot his whole coterie … I think Kestiar wants to die with them.” 

“Kestiar?” 

“His whole coterie is dead.” 

“Not his _whole_ coterie!” Jack said.  He turned and shouted over his shoulder.  “Jonas!  We need to call Kelowna City!  Kestiar is alive!” 

 

* * *

 

Sam woke up slowly, moving restlessly against her white pillows. 

Jack was watching her from the chair next to her bed.  He’d been sitting here by her bed in the Gravity Point Infirmary since he and Jonas had carried her in last night.  He watched her closely, waiting for her eyes to open.  She focused on him, and smiled. 

“Jack,” she said. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said.  Her lips were pale, but she was beautiful.  Her hair looked like golden flax against the white military sheets.  He leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss on her cheek, and then sat back.  “How do you feel this morning?” 

“Better,” she said.  "Where are we?"

"We're in the Infirmary at Gravity Point Base," Jack said.  "Kirkly is on his way up.  They’re flying him up in a bomber as we speak.”

“Kestiar is conscious,” Sam said, her eyes going out of focus.  “He’s very weak, but he’s feeling better.” 

“Good,” Jack said. 

“I’m going to be okay,” Sam promised.  “Kestiar saved me from frostbite.” 

“Everything is going to be okay,” Jack said.  “Something I need to tell you.  I did something dumb while you were up there.”

“Yeah?” 

“I quit.”

“What?”  Her eyes went wide.  She pressed her elbows under her, sitting up against the pillows.  “When?” 

“While you were up there.  The Air Force Chief of Staff told me to leave you there, and pull back from Langara.   I said no.  Sorry, not sorry –   _not_ obeying that order.” 

“Jack!  Your career!” 

“My career doesn’t matter any more!” he said.  He picked up her hand, and gripped it tightly.  “The _only_ thing that matters to me now is you!  I want to marry you.  I want to be your husband, and take a back seat to your career.  I never want to be separated from you, ever again.”

“You know it means you’ll never travel through the Stargate again.” 

“Yeah,  I know,” he said.  “I’m ready.  I went through the Gate to fight the Goa’uld, and now here we are.  The war is over.”

“You’re sure?”

“You have no idea how sure I am!” he said.  "I told you, some day there _will_ be time for us.  That time is now.  We can have forever."  He kissed her again to prove it. 

There was a sound outside.  Jack sat up.  The double doors to the base infirmary opened.  Daniel Jackson came in, with Jonas and Kianna close behind him, and the base doctor.  It looked like a mob.  They all came in, walking down the line between the starched white beds.

“Hey,” Daniel said. 

“Daniel!”  Jack stood up, and closed Daniel into a tight hug. 

“I did my best,” Daniel muttered into his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter now,” Jack shook his head.  He turned to Sam, sitting up against the white pillows. 

Sam had eyes only for one person in the room. 

Lieutenant Kirkly came up the aisle between the beds, hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure he belonged here.  He stopped with his hand gripping the steel footboard of her bed.  “Kestiar?” 

Sam sat up.  “I have someone here who belongs with you…” 

Kirkly walked hesitantly to her side.  Kianna and the base doctor stepped out of his path.  “He’s safe?”

“He’s here,” Sam said. 

“I thought I had lost him,” Kirkly said.  “I thought he was gone!  I thought I had lost my whole coterie!” 

“He’s here,” Sam said, holding out one hand.  She smiled weakly; a sad smile.  “He says he wants to come back to you.”

Jack backed away from their intimate moment.  He wasn’t part of this.  He supposed that he should probably feel jealous, since his fiancee was gazing deeply into the eyes of another man, but he did not.  This was something he was not part of, and never wanted to share. 

Sam had never been as disgusted by the Goa’uld as he was, he realized.  _Nobody_ was as disgusted by the Goa’uld as he was. The idea of them repelled him.  The idea of what the Langarans were doing here... hell, the idea of Jonas Quinn's weird three-way marriage... filled him with instinctive horror.   

Well, now was the time to get over it, if ever there was one. Jonas and Kianna were holding each other tightly.  Jonas's arms were around Kianna, holding her as if he would never let her go.  There were tears in Kianna's eyes.  The war was over, and Jack was retiring, and there was a Goa'uld inside Sam right now, and Jack O'Neill would just have to get over it.  

Kestiar sat down on the edge of her bed. 

“Is he strong enough to make the jump?”  he asked Sam.

“He says he’s strong enough to try," Sam said.  

“If he dies, I will die with him,” Kirkly said. 

“He knows,” Sam said.  “He loves you so much!  I can feel his heart, Joland.  He loves you _so much!”_    She winced, trying to hold back the tears that were now running down her cheeks. 

“I’m ready,” Kirkly said.  There were tears in his eyes.  He leaned over Sam, waiting.  “Tell him to come to me.” 

Sam put her hand on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.  Kestiar leaned forward into her, into the intimacy of the kiss.  

For a second, nothing happened.  Sam sat still, with her eyes closed, her hands framing Kirkly’s shoulders.  They seemed framed together by the white pillows, a perfect tableau in the intimacy of the moment.  For a long moment, they did nothing but breathe each other’s breaths. 

And then Sam tightened her grip, and Kirkly jerked.  Sam’s throat clenched, and her shoulders heaved.  

And then it was done.  Sam sat back, falling tiredly against her pillow.  Kirkly sat up straight. 

“Ahh,” he sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut.  _“There_ you are..." 

He opened his eyes again.  The golden fire flashed in his eyes, as Kestiar’s mind filled his.  He turned to face Sam.  

“Sam,” Kestiar spoke through Kirkly.  His metallic voice was almost a whisper.  "Thank you."  

“Take care of each other,” Sam whispered back to him.  

“We will never forget you,” Kestiar said.  He leaned forward, and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.  “Thank you.” 

 

 

 


	10. The Union

 The next day, Jack borrowed Calro and Jonas’s car, and asked Calro to drive him to the Rotunda. 

There was almost no sign of Parkerman's coup.  The City had absorbed Parkerman's worst and ignored it, as it had absorbed the Ori and the Goa'uld. The streets looked the same - the patrolling police and the parked tanks were gone. Only a pall of smoke rose from Carlton Street, where someone had accidentally-on-purpose set the BSS headquarters on fire.   Calro drove past the smoking building.  There were still some people celebrating the fall of the BSS on Carlton Street.  The front wall had been covered with graffiti.

Dirk Virago was in the middle of a last-minute rehearsal for the big Unification Ceremony.  Jack sat back in the same small ante-chamber where he’d met Dirk last time, sinking into a plush sofa. Ten minutes later, Virago came in, closing the doors firmly behind him for privacy.  “General O’Neill.  How is she?”

“She’s resting,” Jack said.  “Everything is okay.  Kirkly and Kestiar are still with her.”

Kestiar, Kirkly, and Zindair didn’t seem to want to leave Sam’s side.  Goa'uld and their hosts had been visiting Tickberry Terrace all day, coming to make sure Kestiar was really all right, coming to mourn their dead, and count their losses.  There were grandiose speeches and lurid declarations, obviously, since a Goa'uld was still a Goa'uld, but they seemed heartfelt.  

Jack didn’t understand it at all,  but he didn’t have to.  He would _never_ trust a Goa’uld – but he trusted Sam.  If _Sam_ said the Fourth Estate was solid, then the war against the Goa’uld was _really_ over.  All wars ended, one way or another.  This war had ended in a cave on the Steen Tor.  Sam was coterie, now.  The Tau’ri had formalised their alliance with the Tok’Ra when Selmak blended with Jacob Carter.  Now Sam had formalised the peace with Langara.   She was part of the Fourth Estate, just as her father had been part of the Tok’Ra.  

“Parkerman tried to commit suicide in his cell last night,” Virago said.  “He was prevented, of course.  He’s going to stand trial for a hundred-and-thirty-two murders, and a million-and-a-half _attempted_ murders.”

“Attempted murders?” 

“He tried to bomb Tiran City,” Virago said. 

“How do you even charge someone with a million-and-a-half crimes?”

“We’ll start with treason, and work our way up,” Virago said.  “He will not be allowed _eu thanatos_.”

Jack decided not to ask.   “You’ve beaten off the extremists.  Now what?” 

“Reconciliation is easy,” Virago said.  “The _hardest_ part is going to come in a few years, after all the happy patriotic buzz has worn off.  We've beaten off the extremists, now we have to keep the moderates all working together for the future.  Every precedent we make now has to last after we’ve all got old and died.” 

“I’ve got something that might help with that,” Jack said.  “Something to help Langara rebuild.” 

“Which is?” 

Jack took the little glass bottle out of his pocket, and put it down on the polished table in front of Virago.  “I asked Daniel Jackson to bring me something from Earth.” 

Virago picked it up and looked inside.  He turned the glass, looking closely at the insect inside.   “What is it?”

“That is called … a _bee.”_

“Bees are _real?”_   Virago stared up at him.  "I thought they were just heraldic!” 

“Nope.  They’re just extinct on your planet.  See, when Jonas came to Earth,  the one thing he _couldn’t_ get used to was Earth food.  He went on and on about how good Earth food is, and how _much_ of it there is."

"I've heard." 

"It’s taken me a few days to figure out _why._ Langara doesn’t have any _bees.”_  

"What do bees have to do with food?"  Virago looked confused. 

"On Earth," Jack said, "bees pollinate almost all our food crops.  They buzz around our farms, pollinating the flowers.  They fertilize the flowers, the flowers grow fruit, and you harvest the fruit.  We have way more plants than you do.  Apples, peaches, apricots, cotton - _real coffee!"_

Virago stared at the little bee. 

"This little insect will change Langara!"

"Well," Jack said, "It'll get rid of acorn coffee, that's a real good start." 

"You don't understand!"  Virago stood up,  holding the little bottle tightly in trembling fingers, as if Jack had brought him the key to a priceless treasure.  He held the bottle up in the air like a talisman. 

“This insect will get Kelowna off the Rash!  And this insect will end slavery!  It'll end feudalism in the Andari Islands!  It will free all the slaves in Tirania!” 

“Slaves?”

“Almost all our crops are pollinated by hand!  If this little insect can pollinate _for_ us, there won’t be any need for slaves!  This little bee can set _millions_ of slaves free!” 

Jack felt embarrassed by the emotion on Virago’s face. 

"I've already cleared it with General Landry.  We'll send you a few hundred hives to start with, and teach you how to keep them.”    

“I don't know what to say to thank you!"  Virago said. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jack said.  “Just one small bee for Langara, one last mission for SG1.  I reckon that's a good way to end my career.  I started going through the Stargate to fight the Goa’uld, and here I am, helping the last of them build peace." 

"Any time you're ready for a diplomatic career..." Virago said.  

"I'm ready to retire," Jack said, shaking his head.  "Fishing, barbecuing, drinking beer ... And I think Sam wants kids as soon as possible.  I'm _really_ looking forward to being a stay-at-home dad.  I'm looking forward to _all of it."_

 

* * *

 

Sam got up early, and dressed quietly in the dark while Jack was still sleeping. 

She put his ring on her finger, and pressed a kiss on his head.  She went downstairs, trailing her hand on the polished wood banisters, humming. 

Last night had been fantastic, made even better by the fact that she was already pregnant by him.  This gorgeous sexy man was the father of her child.  He didn’t know it yet, but she did, and nothing in her life had ever felt as erotic…

It was very early.  The sky was still dark. 

Today was Kelowna’s big day.   The Magister of Kelowna had to leave Tickberry Terrace really early this morning, to be in place on the dais at the Unification Ceremony at noon.  They had to be out on the road early, even though the rest of the city was still asleep.    

Sam went down to the front room.  She found Jonas drinking a mug of acorn coffee, staring out the front window at the dark street. 

“Hey, Sam!” Jonas said, as soon as he saw her.  His face lit up in that bright smile again.  He was already shaved, his hair gelled back. “Want a cup of acorn?” 

“No thanks,” Sam said.  Jack had asked Jonas for a few boxes of acorn coffee to take home – all his friends were getting nasty surprises for Christmas. 

"Kianna is upstairs, having a bit of last-minute stage fright," Jonas said. "Zindair is trying to talk her through it." 

"Shouldn't you be up there?"

"I tried," Jonas shrugged, "But _both_ my wives told me to butt out because I wasn't helping." 

Sam grinned at the idea.  "Actually, I wanted to talk to you, before everyone else gets up.” 

“About?” 

“About your vision on the train.” 

“Ah.  That.”  Jonas cradled his mug in his hands. 

“You saw three of us.  Walking in snow, in trouble.  You saw three of us.  Me, and Kestiar, and …?”

He raised his brows at her, innocently.  “You tell me?”  he said.  He took a sip of his coffee, watching her. 

She _knew_ that serene look.  Jonas had worn that same innocent look in the Gate Room at the SGC, when he’d gently suggested to her the idea of taking the Stargate out of Cheyenne Mountain.  He was waiting for _her_ to take the next mental step, like a professor coaxing a post-grad student. 

“You already know, don’t you?”  She pressed her hand to her stomach.  “You knew straight away.” 

“I had an idea,” Jonas admitted.  “I could see three of you, but I couldn’t _see_ three of you.  I knew you couldn’t be carrying two symbiotes, so I knew you were carrying something else.”

Sam looked down at her stomach.  It was still snug and flat under her blue Service Dress; her waist was still lean.  She didn’t feel any different, or look any different.  She didn’t feel any.  It was even too soon for a positive pregnancy test yet.  

“Don’t tell Jack yet?” 

Jonas raised his eyebrows.  “I think he’ll notice on his own in a few months?” 

“It might not last more than a few months.  Kestiar did his best, but … I might still…” 

 “You won’t,” Jonas said, grinning. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve _seen_ her.  She’s going to look just like Jack.  Her name is Jade.”

 _Jade,_ she thought.  _Jade is going to be okay._ She pressed her hand to her stomach again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me on the train?” she asked.  

“I never tell anyone _everything_ I see.   I don’t want people to start thinking I’m … _strange._ ”

She grinned at him.  “Jonas, your whole _planet_ is strange.” 

There was a clumping noise from the door.  Jack’s footsteps, coming down the stairs.  A moment later he came in.  His eyes lit up as he saw Sam.  “Hey!” he said. 

“Hey!” Sam said.  Her heart lifted at the sight of him.  There was nothing quite as flattering as seeing his happiness when he saw her.  That expression would keep her warm inside for years.  She loved this man so much!  

A second later, Jack had engulfed her in a huge hug. 

“Love you!” he said.  “Why are you up so early?”

“We were just chatting about your wedding,” Jonas said smoothly.  He took a sip from his mug, smiling at Sam innocently. 

“Oh, yeah!” Jack said.  “We were talking about that last night!  There’s something we want to ask you.”

“Jonas,” Sam said.  “Jack and I would like to invite you to our wedding.”

"I would be honoured!" Jonas said. 

 “All _three_ of you,” Jack added, watching Jonas’s face.  "You, Kianna _and_ Zindair."  

Jonas did a double-take.  He stared at Sam, surprised.  “What, _us?_   All three of us?” 

“Yeah, all three of you,” Jack said.  Sam could feel the laughter through his body, pressed against hers.  “We discussed it last night.  Larry, Curly, and Moe.” 

“You didn’t see _that_ coming, did you?” Sam asked Jonas. 

“I did _not_ see that coming!” Jonas agreed. 

“You’ll be there?”  Sam asked. 

“We’ll be there!”

“The war against the Goa’uld is over,” Jack said.  “We're going to have wedding guests from all over the Universe.  So yeah, a Goa’uld at the wedding.  We have to start building the peace somewhere.” 

 Jonas’s face broke into one of the biggest grins Sam had ever seen.  “Langara will always be friends with Earth.  That, I have seen in my visions.  We’re going to be okay.  _Everything_ is going to be okay.” 

* * *

 

The plaza in front of the Rotunda was packed from end to end.  There was room on the plaza for thousands of people, and yet it was full.  The The Kelownan civil police had to start turning people away two hours ago, and yet more people were thronging the streets outside.  The whole city wanted to be here today. 

Jack looked down from the dais at the foot of the Rotunda, trying not to feel the pressure of the newsreel cameras and photographers.  He tried to deliver his speech as if he was speaking only to a room, not to let the pressure intimidate him. 

_...Honoured to be here, glad that Earth could make this all possible... Langara is special, your_ _Union_ _is an example to the rest of the galaxy ... we’re all rooting for you…_

He paused at the right moment, taking in a deep breath.  “The peaceful transition from war to unification is proof to all the species across the galaxy that the greatest strength can be found, not in war, but in reaching out to meet each other in peace.  Langara's spirit embiggens us all.” 

The cameras flashed.  He paused for a handshake with Virago, so that the media could bang their camera flashes at him, and then gave up the podium to the Ambassador of Tirania.  He walked back to the ranks of the diplomats and aliens on the dais, and stepped into his place next to Sam.

Sam leaned toward him.  “Embiggens?” she whispered.   

“It’s a perfectly cromulent word,” he whispered, trying not to move his lips. 

He felt very pleased with himself.  The Langarans would blame his word choice on a linguistic difference between cultures.  ‘Embiggens’ was going down in history.  He had achieved a personal life goal: now his career was _finally_ over. 

He glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye.  She was still standing at parade rest, but she was trying not to laugh. 

He was screened from the cameras by the other officers on the dais.   He reached back with his hand, and found Sam’s fingers.  He felt the cool band of his ring on her finger.  _His_ ring, he thought, dizzy with happiness.  _Mrs O’Neill_.  She’d already told him she wanted his name.  And he _wasn’t_ going to screw this one up.  She wouldn’t let him.  They were a team.

And then it was time.  It was noon.  The speeches were done.  The parade had gone past.  The big moment was here. 

The drums rattled one last time, and then stopped.  All the air seemed to be holding a solemn silence.  The stadium was silent. 

The honour guard went to the flag pole.  As one, the Kelownan military raised their hands in the salute to their flag.  Jack whipped up his salute.  He maintained it as the flag of Kelowna was lowered for the last time. 

One final salute to the stooping kestrel of Kelowna.  A flag that had been served, and fought for, and killed for … and today it was being lowered for the last time ever. 

He wondered what it would feel like to see the Stars and Stripes lowered, knowing it would never fly again.  He wondered what it would feel like if the Homeworld flag was raised one day, and he never saw the Stars and Stripes again except in a history book.  He wondered what the Kelownan soldiers were feeling right now.

And then the honour guard were folding the flag.  He and Sam dropped their salutes. 

For a second, there was silence in the stadium. 

For a second Jack panicked that the Kelownan officers had forgotten the new flag, or had the wrong flag, or had bent it on upside down.  But the honour guard must have been rehearsing for months.  The new flag swept up up the pole hand-over-hand.  A tug, and the folds fell open. 

The first breeze picked up the flag of the Union for the first time.   

“Ten-hut,” Jack murmured, and whipped his hand up in an Earth salute.  Sam moved with him.  They held their hands up to their brows in the same salute, and held it as the flag rippled in the wind.

And all around them, the Langaran salute was going up.  Not only from the Army and Navy, but all across the stadium.  They were all saluting.  And the roar of the crowds was rising like a hurricane wind.  Every soul in the stadium was jumping up and down, screaming, singing, throwing things.  Thirty thousand people were going _ape._   Virago and Jonas grabbed each others’ hands, yelling and grinning at each other.  There were tears in Jonas’s eyes. 

Jack jerked, as a flight of military aircraft screamed overhead.  He looked up in time to see the _Hercules_ flying by.  In the ship’s huge shadow, the Langarans were all cheering and laughing and embracing each other, and Jonas wasn’t the only man on the dais with tears streaming down his face.    

Jack received a massive hug from General Baing, and then from Captain Fortune, and Kianna/Zindair grabbed his ears and kissed him hard.  Someone was pounding their hand on his back, someone tried to hug the back of his head, and then Sam was in front of him, grinning.  She threw her arms around his neck. 

She pulled his head down and shouted something in his ear that he didn’t hear, but he didn’t care.  He wrapped both arms around her, picking her up off her feet, kissed her with all his strength.   His career was over, but Sam Carter was laughing into his kisses, and he had never felt so happy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
